


In It For The Long Haul

by Ltleflrt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Switching, Insomnia, M/M, Photographer Castiel, Small Towns, Truck Driver Dean, Waiter Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-12-17 04:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11844009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: Long haul trucking can be a lonely business.  Sure, Dean can chat up other drivers on the CB, and when Sam’s not in class or drowning in homework he’ll let Dean talk his ear off on the phone.  But it’s still hours and hours of staring at the road and scanning the radio dial for local stations because he’s too lazy to upgrade the truck to satellite radio.  And then a flirty waiter in a 24 hour truck stop restaurant sits down with him to chat while he eats his dinner, and suddenly his life no longer feels quite so empty.Photography doesn’t pay much, and insomnia is a bastard.  Which is why Castiel accepts his cousin's offer of employment at the truck stop restaurant.  The graveyard shift is perfect for his fucked up sleep schedule, and Gabriel doesn’t mind if he sneaks a free meal now and then.  Besides, all the most interesting people come into the restaurant in the middle of the night.  Including the gorgeous man with the sad green eyes that makes Castiel want to pull out all the stops to make him smile.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lake Point is a real place, and so is the truck stop Castiel works at. Although I'm basing it off the privately owned one that used to be there back in the 90's. A flashy new one was built out there about ten years ago, and it's nice and all, but I kinda miss the old one. When I lived in Tooele the restaurant in Lake Point was the best place to go in the middle of the night. And the only sit down restaurant, since all there was in Tooele were fast food places at the time. I remember when they got a Denny's and suddenly we felt like we lived in a Real Town.
> 
> So this is a nostalgia setting for me, harking back to my wild teenage years. If you've been to any of these places I'm talking about, keep in mind that a lot has changed in the last 20 years, and I'm ignoring all of it :D
> 
> And a great big THANK YOU to Jhoom for creating the graphic for this story for me <3

Despite the upbeat music blaring from the speakers, Dean's head isn't bobbing to the tempo.  No, the slow sink of his chin toward his chest followed by a quick upward jerk is related entirely to the empty coffee mug in the holder next to his seat and the fact that he's been on the road without sleep for a dangerously long time.

The night is clear and bright under the full moon, and its reflection on the water along the edge of the freeway seems to follow him along in an attempt to assist his truck’s headlights in fooling him that it's not nearing two a.m.  In the distance he can see the jewel-like sparkle of Salt Lake City cradled against the dark shadow of the mountains growing closer as the road is slowly eaten by the eighteen wheels rumbling under him, and he estimates he's got less than an hour of driving ahead if he wants to push through the fatigue.  But he's one slow blink away from putting himself in a position where his eyes will never open again, so he starts watching for a good place to pull over and put out the cones while he takes a nap.

His eyes land on the reflective green sign for the next exit.  There's a little truck stop at the point of the mountain just off the exit, and he perks up when he sees the advertisement for food.  Not only is he exhausted, but he's also starving.  And there's bound to be showers there too.  The promise of hot water and a hearty meal before bed have him pushing his foot down on the accelerator, coaxing a growl and a little more power from his rig.  At this point shaving five minutes off his travel time seems worth the risk of a speeding ticket.

By the time he pulls into a parking space to the squeal of breaks and the hiss of releasing hydraulics, he's feeling more awake.  Concentrating on navigating turns and the occasional bump of curbs under tires chases away most of his fatigue, giving his stomach more room to complain about its emptiness.  Knowing he'll crash out as soon as he's eaten, he grabs his bathroom kit and heads for the sign advertising showers to take care of his hygiene needs first.  Just because no one is around to see him, that doesn’t mean he has to be a gross mess and stew in his own stink.

The facilities echo his movements back to him strangely since he's currently the only patron, but he's accustomed to the eerie feeling.  Between riding along with his dad when he was young, and making his own career out of long haul trucking, he's been in hundreds of liminal spaces.  It creeped him out when he was a kid, but now he likes to imagine that he's a stranger visiting alternate universes.  The few people he does cross paths with in these places look human, but his imagination gives them a flash of red eyes or fangs or pointed ears.  He walks the hidden worlds with secret monsters, and that's pretty damn cool.

He chuckles at his own fancy as he soaps up.  Maybe when he retires he'll write a book.

Taking advantage of the privacy he lets his mind wander as his hands slip lower.  His pleasured sighs are mostly hidden by the rattle of water against tile, but it's nice not having to concentrate on holding in moans and grunts as he strokes himself.  Still, he doesn't linger.  The place may be empty at the moment, but that's not guaranteed to last, even in the wee hours of the morning.  

The session with his palm is quick and perfunctory, no more than scratching an itch because it's been a while.  When he finishes, he almost wishes he didn't bother when the weight of loneliness settles on his shoulders.  His sigh echoes off the walls as he rinses away the last of the soap and shuts off the water.

He doesn't exactly live a life that allows him to share these kind of moments.  The occasional hookup with a drifter hitchhiking from truck stop to truck stop does very little to assuage the ache in his chest, but at the moment he almost wishes the place didn’t seem so deserted.  Until he remembers the last time he’d gotten an offer for sex from someone hanging around the truck stop.  The girl probably wasn’t even old enough to drive, and he’d been horrified when she’d offered him a blowjob in exchange for a ride to the next town.  Knowing someone less savory would take her up on that offer, he’d invited her into the cab but firmly insisted she stay on her side.  He wasn’t going to get all self righteous and tell her to get home to her folks, but he sure as hell wasn’t the kind of creep to take advantage of a kid like that either.

She’d been good company though.  Once she opened up and started snarking at him instead of trying to give him doe eyes, anyway.  

Krissy.  Her name was Krissy.  He hopes that she’s all right, wherever she is.

He sighs again, this time at how pathetic he is for missing the company of a teenage girl he’d barely known.  He really does need to get some rest soon, because the lack of sleep is turning him into a morose motherfucker.

But first.  Food.

He has to walk through the gas station to get to the restaurant advertised on the signs.  An old man gives him a suspicious glare from behind the cash register, and Dean gives him a friendly smile and lazy salute.  The grumpy fucker’s glare deepens, and Dean rolls his eyes as he strides past.  Of course the guy is a kook.  This is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of place, and it’s well past midnight.  It’s exactly the kind of setting Dean expects to find the crazies in.

The diner is dim and empty when he walks through the entrance and he hesitates, wondering if the place is still open.  He’s about to turn around and settle for some twinkies and beef jerky just to put something in his belly when there’s a clang from the direction of the kitchen, and two voices raised.

“Dammit, Cassie you need a fuckin’ bell!”

“Quit napping on the job and you’ll hear me coming, Gabriel.”

The first voice comes in a high pitched imitation of the first.   _“Quit napping on the job and you’ll hear me coming, Gabriel.”_

“Haha, funny,” the second voice deadpans.  

Dean follows the voices and approaches the tall counter lined with stools that separates the diner from the kitchen.  “Uh, hello?”

“Hey, Cassie, get back to work you slacker!” the man dubbed Gabriel calls jovially.  

Seconds later, a dark haired man exits the kitchen.  He’s glaring over his shoulder, but when he turns his attention to Dean, he smiles brightly in welcome.  “Hey, there.  Sorry about that.  We’re kinda slow, so I was getting some stuff done in the kitchen.”

It takes a few seconds for the man’s words to register on Dean’s exhausted brain because it’s busy trying to process how freaking gorgeous the guy talking to him is.  Tall, blue eyes, a stubbled jaw Dean wants to rub his own face against.  And short, dark brown locks that look like the guy stuck a fork in a socket, and decided not to comb his hair afterwards.

The guy’s smile fades a little and he quirks his head to the side, and that’s when Dean realizes he’s staring.  He coughs behind his fist and hopes the motion hides the color rising up in his cheeks.  “Uh, hi.  Um, you guys still open?”

The smile comes back twice as bright, and amusement glints in the guy’s eyes.  “We wouldn’t be here otherwise, and the gate to the station would be closed.”

“Oh.  Yeah.” Dean rubs the back of his neck and glances back the way he came.  The grumpy cashier is still casting dark glares his direction, and Dean quickly turns back to the friendlier option.  “I guess that makes sense.”

The guy waves around at the empty tables.  “Well you’ve got the run of the place, so sit anywhere you’d like.  You want something to drink?  Coffee?”

Like most trucker drivers, Dean would hook himself up to a coffee drip it was an option.  He nods, and takes the closest stool at the counter. “Yeah, coffee would be great.  Decaf, though.  I’m going to bed after dinner.”  He manages a smile of his own, some of his embarrassment ebbing away as he remembers how to have a conversation like a real person.  Man, he’s seriously out of practice.  “Gotta get my four hours.”

The guy goes around the counter to fetch the coffee pot and a mug.  “That’s barely a nap,” he says as he pours the coffee and slides the mug within Dean’s reach.  “You sure that’s enough?”

Dean shrugs and reaches across the counter for a little bowl full of creamer packets.  He smiles his thanks when the waiter also passes him some sugar packets, and starts doctoring up his coffee.  “It’s about all I can do all at once.  I’m not much of a sleeper.”

The waiter - Cassie, according to the faceless Gabriel hiding in the kitchen - nods solemnly, as if Dean has spoken an ancient wisdom.  “I know how that feels.  I’m working graves because I don’t have a great relationship with sleep either.” He pulls out a menu, a single laminated page, and offers it to Dean.  “We serve breakfast and dinner twenty-four-seven, so anything on here you want is available.”

Dean takes the menu with a grateful smile and glances over the front, then flips it over to the back.  “How’s the chicken fried steak?”

“Best thing on the menu besides the pie,” Cassie says.  

Dean’s mouth begins to water, and he lowers the menu so he can give Cassie a serious look.  “Dude, that’s the magic word.”

Cassie lifts one eyebrow, and it shouldn’t be sexy but somehow it makes Dean want to drop to his knees and be a good boy for the man.  “What, pie?”

“Pecan, if you’ve got it,” Dean agrees.  “Otherwise I’ll take anything.  All pie is good pie.”

That makes Cassie tilt his head back on a laugh, and Dean’s eyes are drawn to the tanned column of his throat above the collar of his tight black t-shirt.  Damn, the guy is hot.  Dean’s a little glad he jerked off recently, because this guy is giving him happy tingles in all the right places.  And that kind of attraction can be dangerous in a place like a truck stop.  Guy on guy action isn’t unheard of, but it’s kept hush hush and being too obvious can get someone’s ass handed to them.  

Dean knows from experience.

“Alright,” Cassie says when his laughter simmers down to a satisfied chuckle.  “Pecan pie.  Anything else?”

Dean slides the menu across the counter.  “I’ll take that chicken fried steak first.”

“You got it.”  Cassie takes the menu and heads for the door to the kitchen.  “I’ll be back, don’t run off.”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes.  Like he’s going anywhere.  But the friendly reminder to stick around makes him smile.  Cassie is probably just angling for a good tip since the place is so dead and he probably makes dick in wages, but it sounded sincere and a thin layer of loneliness peels away from Dean’s heart.

There's a murmur of voices, and then Cassie reappears.  He plants his elbows on the counter across from Dean, and his sunbeam smile is bright as ever.  "It'll be a few minutes, but as you can see-" he waves a hand around at the empty diner, "-your order is first in line."

Dean looks around, taking in the vinyl seats at the booths and the old fashioned light fixtures.  The place is situated at the foot of a mountain and there's nothing to see outside the windows except the freeway which is backed by the Great Salt Lake so the only lights are from the headlights of passing traffic.  He feels almost like he's sitting in a pocket dimension still stuck in the seventies.  The empty tables and darkened windows only enhance the effect. "Is it always this slow?"  

"Not usually.  We get plenty of drivers through here, but most truckers like to push through to the city.  Most of the time we get more folks from Tooele and Grantsville in here than truck drivers, but it’s Sunday in Utah and we roll up the streets on Sundays you know."  His smile turns sly.  "Thanks for stopping by so I can have someone besides my obnoxious cousin to talk to."

"I heard that!"  A head pops up in the window behind the counter that leads to the kitchen.  The man Dean assumes is Gabriel passes a plate through the opening.  "Cassie loves me to pieces.  But he's just happy to have someone pretty to flirt with."  He winks at them before disappearing.

Dean expects Cassie to flinch at his cousin’s teasing, but he just rolls his eyes fondly and fetches the plate.  There's no hint of embarrassment in his expression when he slides it in front of Dean.  

"Ignore him," Cassie says as he settles back against the tall counter.  "Everyone does."

It's gotta be the lack of sleep that prompts Dean's next words.  "But do you think I'm pretty?"

He braces himself for a punch, just in case.

Instead he gets another hearty laugh.  "Oh, absolutely!"

Relief makes Dean's grin a little dopey.  "Well, feel free to flirt away, Cassie."

Cassie wrinkles his nose, and Dean's heart sinks.  So much for guilt free flirting with a hot guy.  He should have known better.  Especially in a place like Utah where the clocks are set fifty years behind.  He's about to spiral into a whirlpool of self loathing and bitter loneliness when Cassie pulls him back from the edge.  

"Not if you call me 'Cassie'.  I hate that nickname."  Then he smiles again.  "My name is Castiel."

Heat rises up in Dean's cheeks, but it's only partially from embarrassment.  The rest is shy pleasure that _Castiel_ seems to be cool with the flirting.  "Sorry, Castiel."  The name feels strange on his tongue, but at least he gets it right on the first try.  He holds a hand across the counter.  "I'm Dean."

Castiel's palm is warm against Dean's when he accepts the handshake.  "Nice to meet you, Dean."

The warmth in Castiel's voice intensifies Dean's blush, and any hope that the sexy waiter hadn't noticed flies right out the window when Castiel's smile turns into a smirk.  It doesn't help that the handshake is probably going on a little too long.  He takes his hand back and focuses on his dinner.  There's no silverware though.  "This looks great, but uh..."

"Oh! Sorry!" Castiel pulls a napkin wrapped bundle from under the counter and passes it to Dean.  "There you go.  Eat up while it's warm."

Dean expects him to leave, but instead Castiel leans his arms on the counter again and waits expectantly.  "You gonna watch me eat?" Dean asks as he unwraps the knife, fork, and spoon.

Castiel props his chin on his palm.  "I want to see if you think I'm right about the quality of the food."

"Oh."  Feeling a little awkward about having an audience, but secretly pleased with the company, Dean cuts into the steak.  

It smells fantastic, and the gravy is thick and goopy, just the way he likes it.  He scoops up a little bit of the mashed potatoes onto the fork and spears a green bean, and shoves the whole thing in his mouth.  And immediately groans as the savory flavor spreads across his taste buds.

Castiel brightens.  "Good?"

His mouth is too full to articulate exactly how good it is, so Dean settles for another happy moan and an emphatic nod.  

Luckily the message gets across.  Castiel winks at him.  “Told you so.”

Dean takes a sip of coffee to wash down the food, and cuts into the steak again.  But as hungry as he is for food, he’s starving for company, and he takes his time so he can talk normally in between bites.  “So are you from around here?”

“Born and raised here,” Castiel says on a disappointed sigh.  “Never lived out of state, although I did live in Salt Lake for a while.”

Dean glances at the dark windows.  He can’t see it from here, but from where his truck is parked there’s a little town nearby.  He’d seen the sign welcoming him to _Lake Point - founded 1854_.  It was barely a town at all, and he’d be surprised if more than a hundred people lived there.  He half wonders if the place would even exist if it weren’t for this truck stop.

“Sounds like an adventure,” Dean responds before shoveling more food in his mouth.  Maybe talking isn’t a good idea, since he can’t manage to sound like anything other than an idiot.

Castiel shrugs.  “It’s not so bad.  Lots of open space to get myself in trouble growing up, and not so far from civilization that I can’t find ways to entertain myself now that I’ve got a driver’s license.” He grabs himself an empty coffee cup and fills it halfway before he starts opening creamer packets and dumping them into the dark liquid like he’s trying to turn it white.  “What about you?  Where are you from?”

“Kansas,” Dean replies.  “And no I don’t know Dorothy and Toto.”

“You get that a lot, huh?” Castiel asks with a grin.

“Every damn time,” Dean says on a sigh.  

“You could lie about where you’re from,” Castiel points out before tasting his coffee.  He frowns and adds another creamer.

Dean hums thoughtfully around a mouth full of mashed potatoes.  After swallowing he decides to play along with Castiel’s suggestion.  “Today I’m from San Francisco.”  He waves his fork at his surroundings.  “Tomorrow I’ll be from Lake Point.”

“Hey, we’re practically neighbors!” Castiel laughs, and then squints at him.  “You must be some kind of hermit though because I’ve never seen you around.”

Dean has driven past this truck stop plenty of times, but this is the first time he’s stopped.  Like Castiel said of other drivers, he usually pushes on through to the larger cities.  He feels like he’s missed out, because Castiel is excellent company and the food is fantastic.  Ducking his head to hide another damn blush, he says “well maybe I’ll have to be more neighborly in the future.”

When he looks up, Castiel’s smile is less flirty and more genuine.  “That’d be awesome, Dean.” Then he clears his throat, and changes the subject.  “So, San Francisco huh?  That’s a pretty long drive.  Did you do it all at once?”

If Castiel is angling for a larger tip, he’s doing a damn good job of it.  As they chat, the ever present ache of loneliness ebbs away, replaced by a buoyancy Dean almost doesn’t recognize.  His plate is already half empty, and he eats a little slower trying to drag out his time with Castiel.  Eventually he finishes though, and he’s disappointed that he doesn’t have a reason to stick around.

“Still want that pie?” Castiel asks, as he clears away Dean’s dirty dishes.  “We’ve got pecan.”

Dean perks up.  “Hell yeah, I want pie.”

Castiel winks at him.  “One slice of pecan, coming right up.”

There’s a scoop of vanilla ice cream with the pie when Castiel brings it out, and Dean thinks he might be a little bit in love.

***

Castiel tries not to feel too disappointed when Dean finally walks out of the diner.  He keeps his friendly smile firmly in place and waves when Dean glances back at him over his shoulder, but it fades quickly as soon as the handsome trucker is out of sight.

He heaves a sigh, and looks down at the cash Dean left on the counter for a moment before scooping it up and heading for the register.  He pockets the change without really counting it.  The tip is big, he can tell with just a glance, and that makes him like Dean just a little more.

Turning away from the register, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he comes face to face with his cousin.  Pressing a hand over his galloping heart, he glares at Gabriel.  “And you say I’m the one who needs a bell.”

Gabriel crosses his arms over his chest.  “So you’re gonna keep that whole tip to yourself, even though I stayed _way_  past closing time so you could feed Mr. Pretty Boy Trucker after hours?”

Guilt makes Castiel’s shoulders sink and he fishes the cash back out of his apron pocket.  He passes the whole wad over to Gabriel.  “Sorry.  Thanks for playing along though.”

If he expected Gabriel to insist they share the cash, he’d be disappointed, but Castiel knows that won’t be the case.  True to form, Gabriel counts the cash then shoves it in his back pocket.  The he pins Castiel with a smirk.  “Well I guess it was my fault for not lowering the gate at closing time anyway.  But next time you want to flirt with a guy over dinner, maybe ask him out on a date instead of making me slave away in the kitchen.  I ain’t your wife.”

Castiel rolls his eyes.  “Thank god for small favors.”

“Tch, you love me.”

“Only because I have to.”

Gabriel laughs and claps Castiel on the shoulder.  “Alright, asshole.  Get out of here and try to get some sleep for once.”

He’s not feeling tired at all, so it’s unlikely.  In fact, spending the last hour chatting with Dean has left him wired and twitchy.  He’ll probably have to go for an extra long run to wear himself out before he even attempts to sleep.  But he isn’t going to tell his cousin that, or it might get back to his aunt Amara that his insomnia is back and she’ll start nagging him to try sleeping pills again.  And he’d rather not deal with that, so he just nods as he unties the apron from his waist.  “You got it, Gabe.  Do you want help shutting things down?”

Gabriel doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue.  He shuts off the lights to the kitchen and starts counting out the till.  “Get out of here, Cassie.  I’ll close up.”

Knowing he’s dismissed and if he stays any longer Gabriel won’t let him get away with his lie about sleep, Castiel leaves.  He waves at Frank on his way past, getting a wordless grunt in response.  Outside the air is crisp and cool and the sky is clear and sparkling with millions of stars.  The moon is hiding behind the mountains, and it’s only a few hours until the sky begins to change color with the dawn.  

He takes a deep breath, and enjoys the song of the crickets.  Only the occasional whine of a vehicle on the nearby freeway interrupts the peace.  

Across the parking lot he sees a yellow Western Star truck with a plain white trailer parked alone near the tall lamps lining the road.  There are no lights shining from the windows, but Dean probably hasn’t been out there long so he might still be awake despite the fact that he’d been hiding yawns the entire time he was eating dinner.  

Castiel’s more than half tempted to go tap on the door and see if Dean wants some company in the cramped sleeper cab.  But even though Dean had blushed and smiled shyly at Castiel’s flirting, Castiel isn’t sure he’d actually be receptive to an outright proposition.  Truck drivers can be strange about that kind of thing despite some of the stuff Castiel has witnessed in the bathrooms and showers.

Besides, a one night stand might temporarily scratch an itch, but he thinks it would leave him unsatisfied in the long run.  He liked Dean.  A lot.  He was funny and adorable, and exactly the kind of guy Castiel would like to pursue something more than a fling with.  Which is the best reason to just let him go without adding fuel to the flames of Castiel’s little crush.  It’s better to just let him drive away and forget about him.

Castiel kicks a pebble, and casts one last longing look at the yellow semi.  Then he turns his back to it, and lets his feet carry him home.


	2. Chapter 2

As Dean pulls into the Lake Point truck stop he marvels at how different it is from the last time he'd been there.  The little convenience store with the attached restaurant hasn’t changed, but there are trucks filling the lots, and enough people coming and going that Dean has to actually watch to make sure someone doesn't end up under his tires.

Castiel hadn't been kidding about how dead Sunday nights are compared to the rest of the week.  It's before midnight on a Friday, so Dean's timing could have something to do with how busy the place is in comparison to the last time he rolled through.  There's plenty of regular cars and trucks in the lot surrounding the restaurant and Dean assumes they're the weekend dinner crowd from the surrounding towns that Castiel had told him about.

He's not here because of Castiel - he actually did need to stop because he’d kept the hammer down through most of Utah in his eagerness to get home, and his tank is dangerously low - but he feels a twinge of regret that if the handsome waiter is working tonight Dean won't be able to monopolize all his time.  If Castiel even remembers him.  It's been almost a month since Dean's last stop here.  His loads had taken him back east, and probably could have kept him there longer if Dean didn't specifically look for jobs to bring him back to California.  He doesn't like to go more than a month or so without visiting home.

By the time Dean’s filled his tank and parked the rig between a black Freightliner and a powder blue Kenworth, the number of cars around the truck stop lot seemed to have increased.  And when he walks through the store to the restaurant’s entrance, he finds that there’s an actual waiting list to be seated.  He’s considering whether he wants to wait or if he should see how busy the showers are and let the dinner crowd thin out, when a familiar voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“Dean?”

He turns to find Castiel approaching him, blue eyes bright and pink lips pulled up in a pleased smile.  His hair isn’t quite as wild as the last time Dean saw him, but Dean lies to himself that he doesn’t actually notice that little detail.  Or the fact that Castiel looks like sex walking in his tight black t-shirt that bares bulging biceps, and his red apron tied low around his hips.  Nope, Dean doesn’t notice at all.  

He lifts a hand and sweeps his fingers through the air in a little wave.  “Hey, Cas.  Long time no see.”  The nickname slips off his tongue, but thankfully Castiel doesn’t seem to notice.  He drops his hand, and wishes he couldn’t feel the heat rising in his cheeks.  “I, uh… didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Castiel’s head tilts to the side as he considers Dean.  “Of course I remember you.  I don’t normally sit down and chat with my customers while they eat, you know.”

Dean knows now, and the fact that the attention Castiel gave him is out of the ordinary pleases him to no end.

Okay, so maybe he might have been fantasizing about the hot waiter once in a while in the last month.  And _maybe_  he’d passed up bigger truck stops in Salt Lake because he’d wanted an excuse to stop in Lake Point.  

Coughing in an attempt to hide his budding grin, Dean glances into the crowded diner.  The tables are packed, and so are most of the stools at the counter.  “So, uh… how long’s the wait?”

Castiel glances back over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the area briefly before turning back to Dean.  “Twenty minutes if you want a table.  But if you don’t mind getting cozy with your neighbors, there’s a stool at the counter available right now.”

Despite living a solitary life on the road, Dean is no stranger to sharing tight spaces with other people.  He grins at Castiel.  “As long as no one gets handsy, then I think I’ll be fine.”

Castiel’s laugh makes Dean’s heart thud happily.  

“If anyone gets too fresh, you just let me know,” Castiel says, gesturing for Dean to follow him.  

He gracefully weaves between tables, stopping now and then to let people know he’ll be right with them, or he’ll get them a refill.  He’s not carrying a pad to write things down with, and the fact that he’s the kind of guy who can casually remember even simple orders like iced tea with lemon or coke-no-ice makes him even more attractive.

Castiel pauses at the counter and gestures to the empty stool.  “Do you want a menu, or would you like a surprise?”

Dean blinks, and then decides that as long as he doesn’t get food poisoning, he’d probably be up for anything.  “If you think it’ll be as good as the chicken fried steak, I’ll take a surprise.  And a coke.”

“You got it.” Castiel’s smile turns dazzling.  “Be back soon.”

The lack of elbow room wasn’t exaggerated, but the men to either side of Dean’s new perch just nod at him and turn back to their meals.  From where he’s sitting, Dean can’t give in to the urge to watch Castiel working since twisting around in his seat would make it obvious he’s staring.  So he grabs a pack of Sweet’N Low, licks the tip of his finger, and then starts rubbing at the pink paper.

He’s just broken through the paper enough to see the powder inside the packet when a glass sweating with condensation and brimming with ice and coke is set on the counter next to his hand.  “What are you doing?” Castiel asks, leaning over the counter to get a better look.

“Naked Sweet’N Low.”  Dean glances up, but quickly goes back to work.  If he concentrates on what he's doing, he won't get caught staring.

Castiel’s nose scrunches up in confusion.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dean swipes his finger through the beads of water on his glass and goes back to rubbing back and forth over the packet's surface.  “This isn’t just made of paper.  There’s a little envelope that keeps the sweetener fresh, and it’s lined with paper, which I’m removing.”  He brushes away little curls of pink and holds the packet up.  One side is completely see through, and he shakes it a little so Castiel can see the powder inside.  “When I’m done with the other side it’ll be naked.”

“Okay...” Castiel drags the word out in a way that clearly says that he thinks Dean’s driving outside his lane.  “Why?”

Dean winks.  “Because it’s sweeter when it’s naked.”

Castiel gives Dean a flat stare, but his lips twitch at the corners.  “Okay, weirdo, have fun stripping your sweetie.  I’ll have your dinner soon.”

Chuckling at the joke, Dean goes back to working on his project.  He’s got the attention of the driver seated next to him and has taught him how to strip the packets by the time Castiel returns with his food.  His eyes widen at the sight of the sandwich nestled among the pile of steak fries that came with it.

“It’s called a Chubby,” Castiel says before Dean can ask what it is.  “It’s a hamburger patty with grilled sweet onions, bacon, special sauce, and pickles between two grilled cheese sandwiches.  Two kinds of cheese.”

“Gee, Cas,” Dean murmurs through his awe.  “I can’t imagine why you’d call it a Chubby.”

“It was my cousin’s idea.” Castiel leans over the counter and lowers his voice so it’ll carry only to Dean and maybe the guys to either side of him if they have really good hearing.  “I’m not sure which effect on the anatomy the name refers to though.  Is it because it’s fattening, or because looking at it induces boners?”

“Fuck, why not both?” Dean responds, still grappling with the confusing emotions he’s having about a goddamn sandwich.

Straightening, Castiel fingers his chin and squints toward the ceiling as he considers Dean’s words.  “Y’know… that’s probably exactly what Gabriel was thinking.  Clever.”

Dean laughs, earning himself a pleased grin from the sexy waiter.  “Yeah, real clever.  Although maybe he should have named it the Coronary.”

“True.” Castiel's eyes twinkle when they meet Dean's. “It's already in the menu though, and it would be an investment to change them.  So ‘Chubby’ it is.”

“Order up, Cassie!”

Castiel winks at Dean and turns away to grab the plates Gabriel passes to him, and Dean ducks his head to hide his blush.  It's possible that Castiel is just being friendly, and Dean's overly vivid imagination is giving all their interactions a flirty edge.  But it's nice to think that he _is_ flirting, and there's no harm in a little crush, right?

Since Dean doesn't intend to do anything about it, he focuses on his dinner instead.  The first bite is fucking heaven, and Dean forgets all about flirting.  He's gonna fucking propose to the man for bringing him this burger.

He tries to slow down and savor it, but before he's ready it's gone.  And he's contemplating ordering another despite the fact that he feels fit to burst.  And he still has most of his fries left on the plate.

"So how was it?" Castiel asks as he returns to Dean with a fresh coke.

"Dude." Dean groans and pats his belly.  "I loved it so much I want to marry it."

Castiel's head tilts to the side and his expression is mock-confused.  "I'm not sure that's legal yet?  I think we're still working on the right to marry goats.  Maybe our legislators will get to food eventually, but it probably won’t be in our lifetime."

The head tilt and the smile lines around Castiel's eyes makes Dean want to rub his ears and tell him he's a good boy.  And a few other things far less innocent.

The crowd in the diner has thinned and the stools to either side of him are now empty.  And Castiel seems to be in no hurry to run off to serve other customers.  His attention is firmly on Dean, and there's an intensity in his eyes that makes Dean want to test the waters.

"Maybe I should marry your cousin," Dean says, keeping his voice light with humor despite being extremely invested in Castiel's reaction to the mention of same sex marriage.  "A man that can cook like that deserves to be a pampered house-husband."

Castiel props his elbows on the counter and leans close.  "Gabriel's taken, but I know how to make them, and I like being pampered.  I’m also available."

Dean licks suddenly dry lips.  "Good to know, Cas."

The handsome waiter's smile widens and he straightens behind the counter, all business.  "Do you think you've got room for dessert?"

Groaning again, Dean shakes his head and cradles his belly.  "As much as I'd love a slice of pie, I'm in danger of ruining my girly figure."

The way Castiel's eyes slide over Dean almost feels like a physical touch.  Especially when they linger on Dean's lips before Castiel meets his gaze again.  "There's nothing girly about you, Dean.  So I'd say the danger isn't imminent."

Okay, so that's definitely flirting.  Cheeks burning, Dean ducks his head and swirls a fry through a puddle of ketchup on his plate.  “Well you’ll have to roll me out of here if I eat any more, and my rig’s riding low this trip.”

“Where are you headed?” Castiel asks.

“California.  Headed home for a few days after I drop this load in Monterey.”

“Is that-” Castiel is cut off by a call from a table nearby.  He flashes Dean an apologetic smile and moves off to do his job.

Dean lingers over his fries, hoping Castiel will be able to come back soon, but even though the diner is nowhere near as packed as it was when he arrived, Dean realizes he can’t monopolize the waiter’s time on a busy Friday night.  Castiel reappears at one point to drop off Dean’s check, and he looks like he wants to chat some more, but instead he hurries back to the kitchen to answer a shout from his cousin.  

Sighing at himself for sticking around and taking up a seat that could be given to another paying customer, Dean drops some cash on the check.  He leaves a large tip, and gets up to leave.  He hesitates and pulls out the pen he keeps in his breast pocket for filling out his paperwork.  The unused - and now completely naked - packet of Sweet’N Low is still next to his plate, and he draws a little smiley face on it and leaves it on top of the cash and the receipt which he adds a note to.

_Loved dinner!  Thanks!  ~Dean_

***

The next time Dean rolls through Lake Point isn't a weekend, but it's late again.  He's so tired he feels like he's walking through a dreamscape on his way through the convenience store to the restaurant.  The same grumpy dude with the suspicious stare is behind the register, but he's busy with a customer and barely gives Dean a glance.

The diner is mostly empty.  There's a couple at a table near the window and one grizzled old man in a beat up trucker cap and flannel nursing a cup of coffee and picking at the leftover fries on his plate.  Dean doesn't see Castiel or any other servers, so he heads for the counter, taking a stool a few spaces down from the other driver.  He nods a greeting when the man glances up, but doesn't strike up a conversation because he just wants to take care of his empty stomach and find a somewhat comfortable surface to sleep on.

He picks up the laminated menu on the counter, but no matter how long he stares at it the words won't come into focus.

“You look like Hell.”

Dean perks up in response to the familiar voice.  Castiel's warm and welcoming smile chases away some of the cobwebs in Dean's head, and he grins back.  “Heya, Cas.”  He rubs a hand over his face, grimacing at the scrape of stubble against his palm.  “I guess it's good to hear I look as shitty as I feel.”

“I said ‘like Hell’, not shitty,” Castiel corrects as he grabs a mug and the carafe of coffee. He pauses and holds it up in question.  “Decaf or…?”

“Yeah I’m up on my hour limit, so I'm not going anywhere for a while.”  He watches as Castiel pours him the coffee, and smiles his thanks when Castiel gets him creamer and sweetener too.  He grabs one of the creamer cups and peels the top open, and winks at Castiel.  “A little beauty sleep will do me good.”

Castiel laughs.  “As if you need it.”

Dean's too tired to deflect the compliment with a joke like he normally would in the company of other truckers.  A blush heats his cheeks even as a soft smile tugs at his lips.   “Thanks, Cas.”

A cough from the driver a few stools down draws Dean and Castiel's attention.  The guy doesn't look pleased, but in Dean's experience that's kinda the default setting for old timers in the trucking business.

“Need more coffee, Marv?” There's a coolness in Castiel's tone that makes Dean blink.

“Just the check please, Castiel.”

Castiel bustles around behind the counter for a moment, taking his time putting away the coffee pot and drying his hands on a towel.  Then he pulls a slip of paper from his apron and slides it in front of Marv, not even waiting for payment before coming back to Dean.  “Know what you want?”

The grumpy driver had made Dean forget all about his grumbling stomach.  He doesn’t expect the guy to turn nasty, but the daggers he's been glaring at Castiel make him wary.  “I'm not sure yet,” Dean admits, looking down at the menu again, but still not quite able to focus on the wall of text.  

“How do you feel about breakfast?”

Dean let's the menu sag and looks up at Castiel.  “You gonna surprise me again?”

Castiel's eyes are underlined by dark shadows and he looks as tired as Dean feels but his smile is bright as ever.  “Sure.  How do you like your eggs?”

“Over easy.”

“You got it.”  Castiel calls a comical sounding order through the window then goes to gather the money Marv left on the counter before leaving.  He grimaces, and takes it to the cash register.  

Dean watches him count it out into the drawers and notices that it appears to be exact change.  Castiel has nothing left to pocket when he's done.  “He didn't leave a tip?” He asks when Castiel turns back to him.  

“Nope,” Castiel responds, popping the P loudly.  He stacks Marv’s dishes and puts them in a bin under the counter.  

Dean's shoulders slump.  “I'm sorry, Cas.”

Castiel's head comes up and he squints at Dean.  “What for?”

“Well I was kind of flirting with you and I know most drivers can be assholes about that.” Dean plucks a Sweet’N Low from the bowl of sugar packets, licks his finger, and starts rubbing at the paper.  It gives him an excuse to keep his eyes lowered so Castiel can’t see how nervous he is just coming out and _saying_  that he’s been flirting.

Long fingers, blunt at the tips with nails chewed short, touch Dean’s wrist, freezing the air in his lungs and making him look up.  Castiel’s smile is still warm, still open.  “Marv’s always a dick.  Don’t worry about him.” His smile widens into a toothy grin.  “Besides, I was _definitely_  flirting with you, so you can’t take all the blame.”

Dean’s heart stops.  Then kicks up so hard and fast that he can feel its thunder in his ears.  He knows he’s smiling like a dopey idiot, but he doesn’t give a fuck.  “Yeah?” he asks, breathless even to his own ears.  

“Yeah,” Castiel answers.  He squeezes Dean’s wrist before his touch slides free.  “I’ll be back in a few minutes, ok?”

Dean nods and twists in his seat to watch Castiel as he takes care of the couple at the table.  But he doesn’t want to get caught staring, so he goes back to stripping his packet of sweetener.  A few minutes later Castiel brings Dean a plate full of eggs, biscuits, and the best damn sausage gravy he’s ever tasted.  

He stays and chats with Dean when he can, although a couple more drivers drift in, and he has to take care of them as well as the couple’s table after they leave.  But he always comes back when he has time.  They keep the subjects light since they’re interrupted often, but Dean enjoys Castiel’s sarcastic humor and the way he hangs on Dean’s words like they’re the gospel truth.

When Castiel catches Dean’s eyes drooping he orders him off to bed.  Dean reluctantly obeys, but he leaves a hefty tip to make up for Marv being an asshole, and he weighs it down with another naked Sweet’N Low.

He wakes to the sun, and goes back into the diner for breakfast.  Castiel isn’t there, which is disappointing but not unexpected.  When Dean gets on the road after a stack of fluffy pancakes and a few cups of _real_  coffee, he already knows he’ll be coming back again as soon as he can.

***

The way Dean's eyes widen when Castiel slides the warm plate in front of him is so cute that Castiel wants to grab him and kiss him right there in front of every patron in the diner.  His restraint has nothing to do with the audience.  He's been giving homophobic assholes the middle finger and occasional busted lip for half his life, so he doesn't care who might be looking.  But he's on the clock and it would be unprofessional.

Plus he's not sure Dean would be into it despite his bashful smiles in response to Castiel's flirting the last few times he's been here.  He's been a little shifty when Castiel flirts with him in front of other truckers.  So Castiel isn't sure if he's comfortable with his sexuality, or if he's even out, and the trucking community tends to be somewhat intolerant of queers in their midst.

Which Castiel finds ironic since male hookers seem to make plenty of cash off the hypocritical bastards frequenting the truck stops.

"What is this?" Dean breathes in awe.  He gingerly pokes at a cheese covered potato with his fork.

Castiel grins.  "Irish nachos."

There are other customers to serve, but Castiel doesn't move.  Rooted to the floor, he watches as Dean spears the potato and lifts it from the plate.  Long strings of melted cheddar trail behind for a moment before snapping free, but the sour cream, chunks of corned beef, and a single jalapeno manage to stick.  Before he even tastes it a tiny whine emanates from Dean's throat, and then a groan of pure bliss when he shoves the fork and its cargo into his mouth.

It takes everything Castiel has not to echo Dean's whine as he watches the handsome trucker savor the food Castiel brought him.  It’s another surprise because Castiel is having fun with the game of finding foods he thinks Dean will appreciate, and so far Dean has been playing along.

Green eyes framed with long lashes and freckles slip closed, and when Dean licks a smear of sour cream from his bottom lip, Castiel has to wet his own suddenly dry lips.  Watching someone eat should not be this sexy, because he definitely doesn’t have a feeding fetish.  But everything about Dean is gorgeous, from his delicate yet masculine features to the width of his shoulders and muscled arms poorly hidden by the long sleeves of his flannel shirt.  Add the sinful way his mouth moves when he eats, talks, smiles... Well anyone attracted to men would be tempted to stare.

And Castiel is a firm five on the Kinsey scale.

When Dean swallows, Castiel follows the bob of his Adam’s apple, and his mouth waters with the urge to taste the skin there.  He jerks his gaze up just as Dean opens his eyes and looks up at him with the sweetest, brightest smile, and now Castiel’s heartbeat is kicking up its beat for a completely different reason.  His physical attraction to the handsome trucker teeters dangerously over the edge of a massive crush, and the fact that Dean is going to drive out of his life, possibly never to return, is the only thing that keeps firm ground under his feet.

“So I’m assuming you like it?” he asks, his voice a little huskier than he intended.

Any hope that Dean didn’t notice is quickly dashed.  His cheeks darken, hiding his freckles, and his smile turns shy again.  “Yeah, Cas.  It’s awesome.”

Castiel clears his throat and takes a step back.  He needs the extra space despite the barrier of the counter between them.  Because it’s taking everything he has not to reach out and ruffle Dean’s hair and tell him how adorable he is.  “Well I’d better get back to work.  Enjoy your dinner, Dean.”

There’s a flash of disappointment behind Dean’s eyes but it’s hidden quickly behind another bright grin.  “Thanks, man.”

With feet heavy as lead, Castiel leaves Dean and goes to check on the full tables throughout the restaurant.  It’s not a Friday or Saturday night, but it’s not late and there’s still a lingering dinner crowd.  He’s glad he covered Alfie’s dinner shift instead of coming in later for the overnight shift because otherwise he might have missed Dean’s visit this time.  

Unfortunately he’s kept busy enough that he doesn’t really have a chance to chat with Dean much, and before he knows it Dean’s plate is empty.  And of course everyone seems to be finishing up or needing a refill at the same time, so Castiel doesn’t have time to do more than check in with Dean before giving him his check.

When Castiel manages to get behind the counter, Dean is scrolling through something on his phone.  But he looks up with what might be hope when Castiel stops in front of him.  “Do you have room for dessert?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but a shout from the kitchen interrupts him.

“Cassie!  Can I get a hand in here for a minute?”

Castiel wants to strangle his cousin, and not just because of the stupid nickname that Gabriel refuses to drop.  But he sounds urgent, which means Castiel can’t punish him by ignoring him.  

“I’d love some pie,” Dean says, patting his belly, “but that was a lot of food and I sit on my ass all day for work so I should probably pass tonight.”  His words are light, but there’s a flatness in his expression that Castiel knows for sure this time is disappointment.  “But maybe next time?”

“Castiel!”

With a huff and a frustrated glance at the kitchen, Castiel pulls Dean’s check from his apron and slides it to him across the counter.  But he gives Dean what he hopes is an encouraging smile.  “Don’t be a stranger, okay?  I’d really like there to be a next time.”

That earns him another smile that’s half shy, half delighted.  “You got it, Cas.”

There’s another call from the kitchen, and Castiel knows he can’t wait any longer.  He flashes one last grin at Dean and hurries into the back, where he finds Gabriel rushing to clean up a floor coated in a thin layer of white.  

“What the hell?” he asks, freezing with his feet at the edge of the mess.

“Flour bag had a containment breach,” Gabriel says as he shoves the broom into Castiel’s hands and heads for the grill where a couple burgers are definitely in need of being flipped.  “Sorry to break up your moment with the hottie, but that shit’s more slippery than it looks and I’m sure you’d rather clean up flour than my busted open head.”

Castiel sighs, but gets to work.  There’s other customers that’ll need his attention soon too so he needs to get this mess cleaned up quick whether Dean will be waiting for him or not.  “It’s alright, he was getting ready to head out anyway.”  

Gabriel casts a smirk over his shoulder.  “You haven’t invited him to the motel yet?”

The motel next to the truck stop is older than Castiel, and he’d be willing to bet some of the stains on the bed sheets there are as well.  It’s cheap, but that’s why the lot lizards love the place.  “Gross, Gabe.”

His cousin cackles, but gets back to plating the burgers.  Castiel gets enough of the flour pushed into a pile that Gabriel should be safe, and takes the orders out to the tables.  He refills a few coffees, chats with a couple regulars, and finally gets back to the counter where Dean had left cash for his check.

Just like the last two times Dean was there, he left a naked Sweet’N Low on the stack of small bills.  But this one is a little different because it doesn’t have a smiley face drawn on it.

This time there’s a heart.

He’s staring at the little packet of powder, cheeks aching from grinning because that is _definitely_ a flirtation if he ever saw one, when Alfie finally comes rushing in.  

“Sorry I’m late!” Alfie calls as he joins Castiel behind the counter.  He grabs an apron and ties it around his waist.  “Thanks again for covering for me, Cas.  I really owe you one.  Where do you need me?”

Castiel lifts his gaze from the stripped sweetener, but instead of looking at his young coworker, his eyes are drawn to the windows.  He can’t see the traffic out on the freeway, because there are some trucks out in the lot blocking his view.  He straightens when he recognizes the yellow Western Star that he’d seen Dean climb into the last time he’d stopped by.  “The tables should be fine for a few minutes, but there’s a huge mess in the kitchen Gabe needs help cleaning up,” he murmurs.

Alfie taps his forehead in a lazy salute.  “You got it, Castiel.”

The truck’s headlights are off, and there’s a shade up in the window with light peeking around the edges.  It looks like Dean’s not planning on getting on the road right away.  Castiel doesn’t know if he’s just getting some paperwork done and will be leaving soon, or if he’s planning on getting some shut eye before he gets back on the road, but the fact that he’s still out in the lot feels like an invitation from fate.

He shoves the Sweet’N Low packet in his pocket and hurries to put Dean’s payment in the register.  The tip is extremely generous again, and Castiel doesn’t tuck it away with the rest of the ones and fives in his pocket.

“Hey Alfie, do you think you’ll be okay by yourself for the rest of the night?”

The younger man looks up from where he’s brushing flour into a dustpan with the broom.  “Yeah, sure.  Is everything okay?”

“Is someone getting a piece of ass?” Gabriel sing songs from inside the walk in fridge.

Castiel glares at the open door of the little steel room, but ignores his cousin.  “Everything’s fine, I just have something to do.”

“Or someone.”  Gabriel saunters out of the fridge, laden down with a bucket of the ice cream he makes himself.  He’s not the diner’s only cook, but as the owner he spends the bulk of his time there and most of the recipes are his own creations.  Anyone sane would call him a workaholic, but Gabriel insists the correct term is “hobbyist”.  

“You’re an asshole, Gabriel.” Castiel ignores his cousin’s shit eating grin.  “But you’ll be my hero for the day if you can dish me up a slice of huckleberry pie to go.”

“Wow, a _full_  day?  Must be important!”  But Gabriel leaves off the teasing and heads for the warmer where he’s got two fresh pies.  He cuts a large piece and tucks it into a styrofoam box, and presents it to Castiel with a flourish. “Tell loverboy I said ‘you’re welcome’.”

Castiel only rolls his eyes in response before hurrying out of the kitchen.  A glance out the window tells him Dean’s truck is still there, and he a thrill goes through him, speeding up his steps to a jog.

He’s been working at Gabriel’s diner for years, and he’s flirted with plenty of drivers passing through during that time.  He’s accepted an invitation into a few sleeper cabins, but he’s never made the first move.  But there’s something about Dean.  It’s more than just his good looks.  There’s something sweet and earnest about the way he looks at Castiel.  Like he’s something special, even though Dean doesn’t know anything about him.

Pausing outside the passenger side door, Castiel takes a deep breath and a moment to consider whether what he’s about to do is a good idea.  He doesn’t think Dean’s dangerous at all, but a one night stand with him might be.  Because Castiel _does_  have a crush, and if he knocks on that door anything that happens afterward may be the last thing he gets to do with Dean.  Truck drivers are wanderers by nature, and he knows he’s already lucky he’s gotten to see Dean as much as he has.  Sure, the diner gets regulars, but they’re local drivers.  A long haul driver is a whole other creature.

His free hand slips into his pocket and he pulls out the naked Sweet’N Low with the little heart doodled carefully on its delicate inner paper.  He remembers Dean’s mischievous grin when he told Castiel that it’s sweeter when it’s naked.  And he knows the decision is already made, he’s just procrastinating.  So he tucks the sweetener back in his pocket, and then lifts his hand and knocks on the truck’s bright yellow door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naked Sweet'N Low is something my friends and I would do whenever we went to Denny's in the middle of the night because we're little shits. We always used the ones we stripped though. We were brats, but not wasteful brats :)


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the fact that Sam gave him a fancy-schmancy tablet-laptop thingy for his birthday more than a year ago, Dean still prefers to keep paper logs. But ever since his dispatcher Charlie had given him a lecture on the marvels of the modern age of electronics and cloud storage, he has started to at least copy his records into the app she'd made him download.

He's not consistent about it though, and if the snippy messages he's been getting from her are any indication, he's pushing his luck with her patience. So instead of getting back on the road immediately after dinner, he pulls out his logs and gets to work. He's a little groggy and feels like he might slip into a food coma, and driving isn't the best idea for a little while anyway, so now’s as good a time as any.

He hasn't gotten much farther than loading up the program and finding where he left off in his paperwork when he's interrupted by a knock on the passenger door. It's not a complete surprise - prostitutes have been knocking on his truck doors for years. And this stop’s remote location is almost perfect for the lot lizards that want to avoid cops. There's even a tiny motel nearby for them to do their business with drivers that don't want to invite them into their trucks.

It's been a while since he's accepted their services, but he's certainly not opposed most of the time. A handy before bunking down for his typical four hour nap is a great way to get relaxed enough for sleep.

But the idea of letting some stranger get him off in the parking lot of what he's come to think of as Castiel's Stop repulses him so swiftly he actually shivers. It's a little ridiculous since he and Cas have nothing going on besides a little bit of flirting, but it still feels like a betrayal, because he kinda wishes there were more between them.

No, he'd rather not answer that knock. Not when there's a chance Castiel might witness a hooker propositioning him, and getting the wrong idea. But he sets aside his tablet and notebook with a sigh and moves across the cab to roll down the window since a persistent hooker will keep knocking if there's a light on inside. He might as well let them know he's not interested so he can get back to work.

“Sorry, I'm not interested toni-” he cuts off with a blink when, instead of a hooker, he sees Castiel standing on the blacktop below him. “Cas?”

The handsome waiter grins up at him. “Hello, Dean.”

Flummoxed, Dean looks around the lot - which is empty of people, if not vehicles - then back down at Castiel. “Uh, hi.”

Castiel's grin shifts into something a little rueful, but tinged around the edges with hope. “I'm sorry, it's probably rude to just knock on your door without an invitation." He holds up a Styrofoam box enough to bring Dean's attention to it. “I know you said you were too full for dessert, but this is huckleberry pie and we don't have it often since the berries aren't local. You could take it to go.”

In the face of Castiel's eager eyes, Dean breaks out in a half-relieved laugh. “Dude, I thought you were a hooker." He reaches for the door handle and pushes it it open, careful to give Castiel time to step out of the way. "Wanna come up for a minute?" The elegant arch of one dark brow speaks volumes, and Dean rolls his eyes. "I don't think _you're_ a hooker, Cas."

Castiel's teeth flash in a sly grin. "Well I'm off the clock."

For a moment Dean isn't sure if Castiel means his shift at the restaurant or... He shakes the thought away and beckons Castiel to climb up. "Come on in here. I don't have a mini fridge for the pie, but I can eat a little if you share it with me."

Surprise wipes the smirk off Castiel's face, and Dean briefly questions whether he should have offered to share dessert, because that's almost a date activity. But Castiel doesn't hesitate. He hands the pie up to Dean, and grabs the edge of the door to hoist himself through the opening.

Dean moves back to his own seat, sitting sideways so he's facing the passenger seat. He opens the box while Castiel gets settled, knees bumping Dean's between the seats. Dean's heartbeat goes a little haywire at the contact, but the buttery-tangy-sweet scent of berries and flaky crust is a great distraction from the half panicked thoughts of _holy crap Cas is in my truck!_ and gives him the time and leverage he needs to wrangle the fluttery feelings under control. Castiel sitting in his passenger seat is not a big deal.

Except that it is. Because he _likes_ Castiel in that schoolyard crush kind of way.

It's not just because he brought Dean pie, although he's self aware enough to realize that the action earned Castiel a whole bunch of brownie points. Or would that be pie points?  Whatever. Extra credit is due.

"You don't have to share it," Castiel says, pulling Dean from his contemplation of the drool-inducing pie. "I only packed one fork."

It's on the tip of Dean's tongue to suggest sharing the fork too, but he doesn't want to come on too strong. "Not a problem, hang on." He twists around in his seat and opens a drawer right behind it where he keeps extra packets of ketchup and hot sauce and utensils that fast food joints occasionally give him. He finds a plastic wrapped spork from KFC, and hands it over to Castiel. He bounces his eyebrows teasingly. "I wasn't a boy scout, but never let it be said that I'm not prepared."

Castiel's eyes sparkle at Dean as he rips away the plastic from the spork. "Very impressive."

Dean chuckles and settles himself sideways in his seat so they can both reach the pie. With the cheap plastic fork Castiel tucked in the box, he scoops up a bite and moans when the flavors spread across his tongue. "Dude, this is fantastic."

Castiel also lets out an appreciative sound when he takes his own bite, and it makes Dean's nerves tingle with awareness. "Yes, Gabriel is absolutely magical."

Hoping conversation will take his mind off all the ways he could coax that noise from Castiel again, Dean hops on the subject of the diner. "Gabriel's the cook?"

"He's also my boss." Castiel licks his spork, drawing Dean's eyes to his mouth. "And my cousin."

When Castiel reaches for another bite Dean forces himself to look up. There's a hint of a smirk around Castiel's eyes, but Dean isn't completely sure that's not his imagination.

"He's your cousin and he's making you work nights?  What a dick."

Castiel covers his full mouth with a hand while he laughs. "You're right, he's definitely a dick," he says when he's no longer in danger of spraying pie all over the place. "But I prefer the night shifts. And half the week he's there working too, so he's not making me do anything he wouldn't."

Dean accepts that with a tilt of his head and a shrug. He takes another bite, and has to admit to himself that he's glad he's been able to try Gabriel's cooking. "So why do you like the night shifts?" His manners aren't quite as good as Castiel's, so his cheeks are still bulged with food.

“Well my day job doesn't pay all the bills and turning tricks doesn’t come with insurance benefits.”

The words are spoken so casually it takes a moment for Dean’s groggy brain to catch up, but when it does he nearly chokes on his pie. He manages to swallow it instead, but only just, and he squints at Castiel through watering eyes. “W-what?”

“Kidding,” Castiel says with a grin.

Dean eyes him warily, but Castiel looks so proud of himself, that he decides Cas is definitely fucking with him. “Jerk,” he mutters with a rueful smile.

Castiel winks at him, then grimaces and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Actually I work nights because insomnia is a bitch. It's something to do instead of staring at my ceiling trying to sleep and being miserable when I can't." He drops his hand and he smiles at Dean. "And I get to meet interesting people."

Dean ducks his head to hide his blush, because he can tell that Castiel is talking about him specifically. Aaaand the fluttery feelings are back in force. He pokes at a berry with his fork. "I get what you mean about insomnia. It kicks my ass too."

Castiel dips his spork under Dean's fork and steals the berry. "Isn't lack of sleep dangerous in your profession?" He pops the berry in his mouth and gives Dean a playfully challenging look after the theft.

With a mock glare Dean brandishes his fork in warning before taking another bite, which he talks around. "I sleep when I'm tired. Just can't stay asleep more'n four hours or so, and I'm alert enough when I wake up."

Castiel hums thoughtfully and declines Dean's silent offer of the last bite of pie with a head shake. He taps his spork against his bottom lip, and Dean really wishes he wouldn't because he's trying _really hard_ not to stare at his mouth. "I have trouble falling asleep until just before sunrise, which is a real bitch in the winter."

His absolute disgust over later sunrises makes Dean laugh. He can see his own frustration with his shitty sleep schedules reflected in Castiel's pretty blue eyes. And now that he’s looking for the signs, he can see the dark circles under them and the sleepy droop of his eyelids. "Maybe you just have a fucked up arcadian rhythm."

"You mean circadian rhythm?"

Dean can't find it in him to be offended by the correction. Not when the teasing sparkle in Castiel's eyes makes him feel so good. With anyone else, his hackles would go up and he'd turn into a defensive asshole. But he just rolls his eyes. And only grumbles a little. "Whatever. You know what I mean. Maybe your inner clock has the am/pm settings switched."

"Maybe. I do sleep better during the day." Castiel shrugs. "I always assumed it was because I stay up all night and exhaust myself. But I have to get up at some point and go to work, so I haven't just tried swapping my sleeping hours."

"What do you do during the day?"

Castiel shifts, and glances away with a shyness that Dean is seeing from him for the first time. "I'm a self employed photographer."

"Really?" Dean leans forward, intrigued. "So do you sell stuff to the paper like Spiderman?"

"If only I had such an interesting subject," Castiel says dryly. "I do sell some stuff to local newspapers, but mostly I end up doing school pictures and the occasional wedding."

"Ooooh, glamorous," Dean teases.

Castiel snorts. "Hardly."

"Oh come on, Cas." Dean nudges Castiel's foot with his own, feeling something pure and happy bubble up inside him at the casual gesture. "There's gotta be some kind of magic behind making high schoolers look less awkward and dorky grooms less dorky."

"I suppose knowing how to use lighting and angles to take a flattering picture might seem like magic to some. But there's little else to it." He barks a laugh and shakes his head. "I used to work for a Glamour Shots in the mall in college. They did _real_ magic there."

Dean gestures at Castiel with his fork. "See? Your job _is_ glamorous!"

" _Was,_ if you're going to count that job," Castiel corrects. "And I'd rather not work for a chain in a mall anymore, thank you. I may not be rolling in cash, but I get by and I enjoy both of my jobs."

Dean chuckles, and is pleased when Castiel gives him a crooked smile. They lock eyes, and Dean is aware they're just grinning at each other like idiots, but it doesn't feel weird. At least not until a yawn distracts him from the moment. "Sorry, man," he says through the tail end of it from behind his hand. He's still holding the fork and nearly pokes himself with it. "It's just about time for my four hours."

The announcement dims Castiel's smile. "I'm sorry for keeping you-"

Dean cuts him off with a handwave. "No, dude. This was great. I'm glad you visited." Swallowing down his nerves, he adds "And not just because of the pie."

For the first time since he's met him, Castiel blushes, which is funny considering how often he's made Dean turn red. He drops his eyes, and reaches into his pocket to pull out the sweetener packet Dean had left with his payment for dinner, and he fiddles with it, flipping it and thumbing over the heart drawn on one side. "Dean, why did you do this?"

Now Dean is definitely blushing too. He considers pussyfooting around the subject, saying it's a way to keep busy while waiting for his order. But he knows Castiel is talking about the heart and not the naked Sweet'N Low, and he's not going to insult Castiel's intelligence. Not when he's getting the reaction he was sort of hoping for in a vague unplanned kind of way.

"I uh... hoped it would speak for itself," he mumbles.

Castiel looks up from the packet, and Dean isn't sure how to read his expression. "Can you spell it out for me, Dean?"

Alright, so they're going with sappy teen romance. Dean can do that. "It means I like you."

Castiel's slow smile sends tingles of awareness all through Dean's body. "It doesn't mean you'd love to see me naked?"

In for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well just admit everything. "Well," he says, drawing the word out, "I wouldn't say no to the opportunity." He grins when Castiel laughs. "But, uh, we don't have to start there."

"So you want to _start_ something?"

The sparkle is still in Castiel's eyes, but Dean can tell the question is serious. And he isn't immediately shooting Dean down. Good sign. And he spends his life following signs, so he pushes ahead, full throttle. "Yeah I do." He looks down at the box in his hand, wishing there were more than just crumbs and smears of huckleberry sauce for him to poke at. "I know it'll be tough since I can only come through town every few weeks, but I'd like to take you out sometime."

He's afraid to look up. If Castiel says no, it'll be a gentle let down, because he's a nice guy. But a hand on his knee brings his eyes up anyway, to find Castiel smiling warmly.

"I'd like that, Dean."

All of Dean's grogginess is wiped away by a wave of excitement. "Yeah?"

Castiel squeezes his knee. "Yes."

"Great!  That's uh.. really great, Cas." He's so giddy, he's honestly surprised he hasn't started bouncing in his seat yet. "So like I said, it'll be a few weeks. I'm not sure when exactly, though. I go where dispatch tells me, and that depends on where the jobs are, y'know. Although sometimes Charlie can get me stuff out this way if I ask. No promises or anything, but she's awesome and can-"

Castiel breaks through his babbling. "Dean, I work at a truck stop. I know your schedule will be weird. How about we begin by exchanging numbers and go from there?"

"Numbers, yeah ok." Dean shakes his head at himself as he pulls out his phone. "Sorry, I'm not usually such an idiot. I'm just kind of..." He doesn't want to tell Castiel about the jumble of emotions he's dealing with at the moment, because that would mean having to untangle them first, and there's a few that would be more than a little embarrassing to talk about anyway. "It's been a while, and I barely remember how to do this."

"I'm no techie, but I can probably show you how to add a new contact."

"No I mean the dating-" Dean cuts off and narrows his eyes at Castiel who isn't even trying to hide his amusement. So much for not embarrassing himself. And yet he still feels a little thrill of happiness for making Castiel laugh and smile, even if it's at his own expense. "Quit fucking with me, you ass."

Castiel plucks the phone out of Dean's hand and starts tapping the screen. "Trust me Dean, when we get to the fucking, you'll be aware of it in advance." There's a chime from his pocket, and when he passes Dean's phone back there's an outbound message to a new contact.

" _'When'_?" Dean asks, only half teasing. "Not ' _if'_?"

"I'm not saying I'm a sure thing, but I'm dying to know if you make half the pretty noises during sex as you do when you eat pie." Castiel licks his lips and gives Dean a full head to toe with blue eyes practically aglow with desire.

Dean feels that look like a touch, and his mouth runs away with him before his brain can pump the brakes. "Want a preview?"

After a flash of surprise Castiel's expression turns downright predatory. "What do you have in mind?"

 _Everything._ This time he manages to keep that thought to himself. "A kiss?"

Castiel answers by taking the empty box from Dean's hands and setting it on top of the cupboard behind Dean's seat. Then he leans into the space between them, reaching out to cup Dean's face and pull him closer.

All the romances (that Dean has _not_ read, shut up) talk about sparks flying and angels singing during first kisses, and it's total crap. Kissing is fan-fucking-tastic, and first kisses always feel enhanced by the excitement of new experiences. Dean knows, because he's been around the block - hell, he's been around the whole damn country, and when he was younger he was a lover-in-every-port kinda guy.

So yeah, he's excited. Already half turned on with anticipation in the second it takes for the distance between their mouths to connect. And there's no spark, no heavenly choir. Just warm dry lips touching his gently and almost chaste.

But then Dean's senses really kick in, and his brain floods with sensations. The sweet scent of berries and the heat of Castiel's breath against his cheek when he exhales. The pressure of Castiel's fingers around his jaw, and the way his thumb comes to rest under Dean's chin, tilting his face up to the perfect angle.

And there's something there. Something extra. Not a spark, although desire is coursing through Dean's blood, fuel for a burgeoning inferno. It's a feeling of potential. The calm before a lightning storm.

The weight of that potential pulls a tiny noise from his throat, and he presses forward to deepen the kiss. Castiel's fingers slip into Dean's hair and his mouth opens under Dean's.

And holy shit, there's the spark. Castiel kisses like he's going to claim Dean as his own. And Dean thinks he'd gladly let Castiel stake that claim. Right now. His truck has a sleeper cabin, so there's a bed _right there._

But the idea to ask Castiel to stay for an hour or two is only partially formed when Castiel breaks the kiss. Dean wants to deny his whimper of protest, but Castiel is grinning at him and thumbing over Dean's bottom lip. "So it's not just the pie," he murmurs, his sandpaper voice deepened by the arousal Dean can see in his eyes.

"In my defense," Dean whispers back. "You kinda taste like pie."

Castiel sits back and laughs so hard that Dean can't help but join in, and they're both wiping tears from their eyes by the time they calm down. Once he seems to get control of lingering chuckles, Castiel let's out a long sigh. "I suppose I should let you get your sleep."

He probably should, but Dean is wide awake now. And in no mood to get back to his logs. Charlie and her lectures can wait. "Do you have to get back to work?"

"No, I was only covering for someone."

Dean gestures to the rumpled bed behind the seats. "I've got a laptop and a Netflix account. Wanna hang out a little longer?"

Castiel lifts one dark brow. "Did you just ask me to Netflix and Chill?"

"The Chill is optional." Dean winks, and his heart flutters when Castiel laughs again.

"Are you sure you don't need to get some sleep?" Castiel asks.

"The great thing about being self employed is I get to make my own hours. What do you say?"

Castiel tilts his head in thought, never taking his eyes from Dean. Then his chin dips in a short nod. “Okay.”

***

It’s impossible to close the door of a semi truck quietly, but Castiel gives it his best shot. Hopefully Dean will sleep through it, and if not that he’ll be able to go back to sleep. Castiel already feels guilty for keeping him awake longer than he’d originally intended to stay up.

But they’d had to keep pausing the movie to talk. It’d taken them twice as long to finish it, but Dean hadn’t seemed to mind, and Castiel certainly didn’t. Just as he hadn’t minded when Dean’s yawning started to become more frequent and he’d slumped over onto Castiel’s shoulder.

Every time Castiel moved he’d murmur that he was awake, he was just resting his eyes but he was listening. Words that were proven a lie when a soft snore reached Castiel’s ears. Since there’d only been about ten minutes of movie left, he’d let Dean sleep.

All the way through the credits, and then for another ten minutes afterwards.

Maybe it was a little creepy watching Dean sleep, but it had been hard to resist. Awake, Dean is a very handsome man, with an odd combination of masculine and delicate features. But asleep?  He’s downright beautiful.

The memory of Dean’s sleepy grumbles when Castiel finally decided it was time to leave makes him smile as he walks across the parking lot, towards the road that’ll take him home. It’s a little chilly despite being early summer, but it’s nearly four in the morning and the air coming off the Great Salt Lake is cool. He’d left his jacket in the diner, but even though it’s open since it’s not Sunday, he decides to deal with the goosebumps so he doesn’t have to deal with his cousin.

“Cassie!”

He freezes, shoulders bunching up around his ears. “Dammit,” he mutters under his breath. Knowing that he’s caught, he forces himself to relax and turns around to see Gabriel leaning against the building, a lit cigarette cradled in his fingers and blowing out a stream of smoke. “Hello, Gabriel.”

“Castiel,” Gabriel says seriously. “Was that _Dean’s_ truck I just watched you get out of?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “And who else’s truck would it be?”

Gabriel flicks ashes from his cigarette and shrugs playfully. “I don’t know. For all I know you’ve started turning tricks on the side.”

It’s a common joke between them since they were teenagers. They lived so close to the truck stop that they’d often tried to one up each other on all the gross things they might get asked to do for money. Gabriel always won that game.

“Not yet. You pay me enough. Barely.”

Gabriel laughs, and takes one more drag off his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and crushing it under his heel. He tucks his hands in the pocket of his apron, and steps out of the shadow of the diner, scuffing his feet as he approaches Castiel. “So if you weren’t rockin’ the truck, what were you doing out there for so long?”

“Mostly talking,” Castiel answers honestly.

“And what did you do while you weren’t talking?” Gabriel asks with a suggestive bounce of his eyebrows.

It’s none of Gabriel’s business, but Castiel knows that’s not going to stop his cousin from prying. “We also watched a movie.”

Gabriel scoffs and waves a dismissive hand at Castiel. “Dude, you are totally off your game. Do we need to have a talk about how to score properly, Cassie?”

“No thank you, Gabe.” Castiel rubs his thumb over his pocket where he’s still got the packet of sweetener labeled with a heart that Dean gave him. “I think I’ve got it covered.”

The teasing goes out of Gabriel’s expression, and his eyes widen with surprise. “Wait, you actually like this guy don’t you?”

Remembering the weight of Dean’s body against his own, and the texture of his lips, and the way his eyes sparkled when Castiel teased him, Castiel smiles. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes I do.”

“He’s a truck driver, Castiel. They’re not exactly known for sticking around for the long run.” Gabriel rests a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “You sure you want to get involved?”

It’s already too late. Castiel has a feeling that even before he’d gone out to bring Dean pie that he was already a little bit attached. Maybe even from the first night he’d shown up in the diner, looking exhausted and lonely. He’d lit up for Castiel, the sadness disappearing from his lovely green eyes as they spoke. Pretty blushes staining Dean’s cheeks every time Castiel said something flirty had quickly become his favorite thing, and he’d flirted much more openly than he normally would have.

Castiel had been sad to see him go. And thrilled when he’d come back.

He nods slowly. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, alrighty then.” Gabriel smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “Good luck, cuz.”

After a wave and a call to have a good night, Gabriel turns to go back inside. Castiel continues his walk home, enjoying the music of the crickets and the wind through the trees as he fantasizes about Dean for the whole walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slower than usual updates. I'm struggling a bit with this story at the moment.
> 
> For anyone wondering about the Naked Sweet'N Low, [this is what it looks like.](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com/post/164870754613/for-those-of-you-wondering-what-the-fuck-i-mean)


	4. Chapter 4

"Quit primping, you're pretty enough."

Dean transfers his disgruntled glare from his reflection in the mirror to the screen of his laptop where it sits on the closed toilet seat.  The Skype feed shows just blank wall instead of his brother's smirking face, but even if Sam was at his desk he wouldn't be able to see more than Dean's knees since the camera isn't angled correctly for anything else.

"I'm not primping," he denies, even as he goes back to running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get the spikes to look the perfect balance between styled and messy.

Movement in the corner of his eye and the increased volume of Sam's voice indicate his brother is back in front of his own camera.  "I call bullshit," Sam says with an overabundance of smug assurance.  "You've been antsy all week, and I vividly remember all the times you hogged the bathroom on date nights back in high school."

Dean pauses to lift an eyebrow at his laptop.  "'Vividly'?  Creepy much?"

Sam rolls his eyes and lazily flips off the camera.  "Just cool it with your hair, Deanna.  You look fine."

"You can't even see me, Samantha."

"According to more than one of your exes, you're too hot for your own good.  You're fine, dude."

Dean refrains from asking his brother why he was having those kinds of conversations with his exes, but he does stop messing with his hair.  Dropping his hands to rest on the edge of the sink, he tilts his face back and forth and wonders if he should keep the stubble or go with a clean shave.  "I don't know why I'm so fucking nervous," he mumbles.

Sam catches his words anyway.  "The guy must be pretty cool."

Dean can't help grinning at his reflection.  "Yeah."

It's been a few weeks since he exchanged numbers with Castiel, and that's the last time they saw each other in person, but it's not the last time they've spoken.  Dean's phone rang the very next day, and he'd been thrilled to see Castiel's name on the screen.  Knowing that texting wasn't really an option for Dean, Castiel had called to chat for a little while before heading into the diner for his evening shift.  Dean didn't have much to talk about besides annoying drivers, but Castiel had laughed heartily at his ranting about tiny smart cars cutting him off like he couldn't just roll over them like the colorful speed bumps they are.

They've talked pretty much every day, usually at odd hours since neither of them have a sane sleep schedule.  They never seemed to run out of things to say, filling the airwaves with everything from discussions about music to anecdotes about their mischief and mishaps as teens to their equally shitty dating histories.  Dean maintains that he "wins" since having any kind of relationship is always strained by his long absences, but Castiel has told him more than once that it's not a contest and that Dean's not going to scare him off by constantly reminding him of the long distance thing.

Dean smiles at the memory of Castiel's gentle scolding, but it's quickly replaced by a frown.  What if they don't have anything to say to each other now that they'll be spending time together in person?  It's happened to him before, and he hates that his brain is reminding him of that _now_ when he's only got - he glances at the laptop to check the time - "Oh shit, Sam I gotta go.  Cas is going to be here any-"

A knock on the motel room's door cuts him off, and he sucks in a surprised breath.  He bends down over the laptop so his face is visible to the camera.  "How's my hair?"

Sam laughs.  "Lookin' good, Deanna."

"Eat me."  Dean sticks out his tongue to punctuate the already childish exchange, then slaps the laptop closed.

He takes one last glance in the mirror.  He looks good in a green plaid button up, especially with the sleeves rolled up to show off his bracelets and paired with dark jeans. There's no time to regret the beard stubble, but he runs his fingers through his hair one last time before he goes to answer the door.  

Pausing with his hand on the knob, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply to center himself.  It's just a date.  He's done this before.  There's no reason for butterflies.

When he opens the door to Castiel's shy smile Dean realizes that there's at least a few reasons for butterflies.  One, Castiel is _hot,_ and B, he's gorgeous.  And yes those count as two separate things.  The air rushes out of Dean in a quiet "hey, Cas," and he doesn't even care that he's smiling like a dope.

Castiel's eyes sparkle, but he doesn't address Dean's obvious lack of chill.  "Hello, Dean."

Cell phone technology is fucking amazing, but no matter how strong the signal, it doesn't do Castiel's voice any justice.  The rough tones slide over Dean's senses and he shivers despite the heat that the little window mounted air conditioner is struggling so hard against.  When he realizes he's staring, Dean shakes his head at himself and steps back to open the door wider.  "Come on in.  I'm almost ready."

Castiel's eyes dart around as he steps past Dean into the room.  His nose scrunches up and he slants a look at Dean.  "You know only the hookers use this place, right?”

“Can’t blame ‘em,” Dean counters with a cheeky grin.  “The rates are fantastic.  And it’s not a bad place.”  He looks around at the simple room.  The bed isn’t even a queen, but the sheets and blanket are unstained and smell clean.  The bathroom is barely a closet, but there’s no mildew or missing tiles in the shower.  And there’s no underlying stench of stale cigarette smoke which means management enforces the no smoking rule in the no smoking rooms.  “I’ve definitely stayed in worse.  And I needed somewhere to get ready, and this way you could pick me up properly for this date you’re taking me on.”

“Okay, but hookers, Dean.” Castiel’s expression is still scrunched up, but his eyes twinkle.  

“Everybody’s gotta make a living, Cas.”

That makes Castiel laugh, and he steps closer.  His fingers come up and brush against Dean’s wrist, tugging softly at one of the braided bracelets.  He wets his lips and looks up at Dean through his lashes.  “Would it be okay if I kiss you at the beginning of the date?”

Dean’s eyes drop to Castiel’s mouth, and he licks his own lips.  “Well you’re already picking me up from a 'hooker infested' motel, so I guess we can break a few more rules on our first date.”  

Castiel laughs again, and Dean grins in response.  And when they close the space between them, their smiles make the kiss a little bit awkward, but only in the best kind of way.  Castiel’s fingers wrap around Dean’s wrist to tug him closer, and Dean allows himself be pulled forward until their chests bump.  His free hand comes to rest on Castiel’s hip, threading his middle finger through a belt loop and holding on for the ride.  

As far as kisses go, it’s mostly chaste.  But the scent of Castiel’s cologne and the minty taste of lingering toothpaste goes right to Dean’s head even as blood starts rushing southbound.  Which means it’s time to cut things short, otherwise Dean’s going to try pulling Castiel over to the bed and showing him things that’d make the hypothetical hookers that usually rent the room blush.

There’s a flush high in Castiel’s cheeks when they break apart, and Dean’s glad he’s not the only one getting so worked up over a little kiss.  

Castiel clears his throat and takes a step back, but he keeps his hold on Dean’s wrist.  “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”  He’s always hungry.  Here he is pushing thirty, and he’s still got the appetite of a teenager.  “We going to the diner?”

“I know you like the food there, but no.” Castiel wrinkles his nose again.  “I do not want to have our date be anywhere that Gabriel might witness it.  He’ll haze us both, and I’d rather he not scare you away.”  

“Fair,” Dean says with a grin.  He twists his wrist until he can catch Castiel’s hand in his own and squeezes it.  “I’d rather have you all to myself for a while anyway.”

Castiel releases Dean long enough for him to grab his wallet and phone, but grabs his hand again when they walk out of the room.  It’s on the upper floor, so they walk along the balcony to the stairs at the end of the building and make their way down to the parking lot.  Dean glances around curiously, wondering which one of the vehicles belongs to Cas.  The green Subaru looks like it may be more his style than the shiny black Corola.  But Castiel leads him past both cars towards an old truck parked on the far side of the lot.  

“This is yours?” Dean asks when Castiel jingles his keys just before they stop on the passenger side of the truck.  

“It doesn’t look like much,” Castiel says as he unlocks it and opens the door for Dean.  “But it’s a work in progress.”

Dean doesn’t get in the truck right away.  He traces the lines of the fenders and takes in the aftermarket lift and the roll bar in the bed.  There’s been some repairs to the body, and his trained eye can see where rusted areas have been buffed out in some places and fully replaced in others.  He doesn’t know what color it was originally, but it’s the matte gray of primer.  

“What kind is it?” he asks.

Castiel follows his gaze, and he runs a hand over the edge of the door, his eyes fond.  “It’s a ‘75 Ford F250 Highboy.  I’ve had it since college, and I’ve been working on it slowly.  It’s kind of expensive to restore, and there’s some things I can’t do by myself.”

Dean’s head whips around so fast he feels a twinge in his neck, but he barely notices it.  “You’re doing the work?”

“It’s cheaper that way,” Castiel says, completely unaware of Dean’s awestruck expression.  “My cousin Michael owns a shop in Salt Lake, and he lets me tinker around after hours.”  He gestures at the truck’s open door, and Dean finally accepts the invitation and gets in.  

It’s not jacked up so high that he feels like he’s climbing into his own rig, but he still has to hop a little to get up into the seat.  He watches Castiel circle around the front of the truck, and tries to imagine him sweaty and streaked with grease.  

Then he immediately tries to _stop_ imagining him like that, because it’s hot as fuck and he needs to keep it in his pants at least long enough to have dinner.

"I gotta say, Cas," Dean says once Castiel settles behind the steering wheel, "I think it's pretty fucking sexy that you know how to fix cars."

Castiel grins at him as he turns the key and the truck's engine roars to life.  "Oh yeah?"

The whole vehicle rumbles, the vibration settling into Dean's bones.  It's familiar and relaxing even if the pitch is a little different from his rig, or his baby sitting neglected under a tarp at the place he shares with Sam in Cali.  “Hell yeah... I mess around with restoration work too.  I've got a '67 Chevy Impala back home that I work on when I'm not on the job."  He frowns.  "She's so damn beautiful, and it's a shame I don't get to take her out often."

Castiel hums his agreement while carefully backing out of the parking space.  "Tell me more about her."

And just like that they fall into the easy conversation that Dean was worried would disappear without the buffer of telephones between them.  He spends the whole drive into Salt Lake gushing about his baby and answering Castiel's questions.  The conversation shifts to the work Castiel is doing on his truck during dinner at a Mexican restaurant that Dean fangirls over a little bit when Castiel tells him it was featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.

"If I didn't know better," Dean says softly on their way out to the parking lot after dinner, "I'd wonder if you got Date Tips for Dean Winchester from my brother."

Castiel brushes the back of Dean's hand, and smiles warmly when Dean twines their fingers together.  "I already know food is the way to your heart."  Then he winks. "Or at least into your pants."

Dean tips his head back on a laugh.  "Dude, I'm not sure Mexican food is the best idea if your goal is seduction.  Refried beans and romance don't mix."

"If our relationship can't survive a gassy first date, then how will we make it through less trivial problems like joint checking accounts and what color to paint the master bedroom?"  Castiel's eyes glitter in the yellow light of the parking lot lamps, and his teeth flash in a teasing grin as he opens the truck door for Dean.

Dean scowls down at him, but there's no heat behind it because it's all he can do to hold in the butterflies dancing around at the idea of Castiel considering that kind of future for them.  "So you're testing me?"

"Yup." The last letter pops between Castiel's lips.

Dean narrows his eyes.  "Challenge accepted."

Castiel's smile softens into something warmer.  "I'm rooting for you."  He gestures to the open truck.  "Come on, the date isn't over yet."

They climb back into the truck, and this time they're mostly silent.  Castiel turns on the radio and Dean rolls his eyes at the country music.

"Music snob," Castiel murmurs, but he rolls through the channels until he lands on a rock station.

It makes Dean feel ridiculously happy that Castiel remembers that classic rock is his favorite.  It was one of the first conversations they had, arguing good naturedly about whether Dean's small-town-Kansas upbringing is enough to qualify him as a country boy if he doesn't actually like country music.  Cas gave him a pass for liking Johnny Cash, but warned him that he's holding on to the title by a thread.  Dean thinks he'd get more country points if he admits to his secret love for Taylor Swift, but he's not quite ready to come out of that closet yet.

He wants to ask where they're going but he's enjoying the easy silence.  It's hard to wait though because Castiel is practically vibrating with anticipation.  Especially when they turn up what looks like a road to nowhere heading straight for the mountains.  As the road climbs, they come to a little town, but Castiel drives right through, leaving the last lights of civilization behind.  And shortly after that the radio cuts off, the signal no doubt blocked by the forested canyon walls around them.

When the winding road changes from asphalt to gravel, Dean finally breaks.  "Cas you don't really give off serial killer vibes, but I'm a little worried about how easy it would be to hide a dead body in these woods."

Castiel casts a smirk at him, but quickly looks back at the road. It's narrowed down to one lane and is littered with potholes and long stretches of washboarding that makes the truck's undercarriage rattle.  "I wouldn't bury you up here.  The canyon is haunted enough and I don't need to add anymore ghosts."

"Okay, I'm gonna ignore the fact you didn't deny you're a serial killer _or_ that you'd kill me," Dean says with a laugh.  "But you've gotta tell me about the haunted canyon thing.

"I'll tell you all about it, but I want to show you something first and were almost there."

Just as he finishes speaking the trees fall away and Dean's eyes go wide when he sees not only how high they are, but also how close to the edge of a very steep drop off they are.  His fingers curl tightly over the edge of the seat and he leans against his window as if the redistribution of his weight away from the cliff will do anything to keep them from tipping over the edge.  

***

"Uh, Cas?"

The words are barely audible over the truck's engine, but they immediately bring Castiel's attention to Dean.  He's pressed against the window, and staring out the windshield with wide eyes.  Even in the dim light from the dashboard Castiel can see that Dean has gone dangerously pale.

"Dean?" When he doesn't get an answer he reaches across the space between them to touch Dean's hand.

"Both hands on the wheel, Cas!" Dean practically squeaks, and he presses his shoulder even harder against the door.

Castiel immediately obeys, and casts quick glances at Dean whenever it's safe.  He's taken this road a thousand times, but in the dark it's still best to be careful.  And he doesn't want to aggravate Dean any more than he is.  "You're afraid of heights?"

"A little," Dean huffs.

Castiel presses his lips together against a smile.  He doesn't want Dean to think he's laughing at his fear, because he's not.  But the tinge of annoyance in Dean's obvious understatement is kind of cute.  "I'm sorry," he says after a moment.  "I should have asked before I brought you up here."

"Nah, dude."  Dean's voice is stronger, closer to his normal deep pitch, but still shaky.  "Simple mistake, don't worry about it."

"Of course I'm worried.  I should've-"

"Should'a, could'a, would'a," Dean cuts in.  "Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Cas."

Castiel doesn't bother to hide his smile this time.  "That's true, I guess."  He sneaks a peek at Dean.  He's still pale and looks ill.  "Would it help if you closed your eyes?"

"Hard no."  

Castiel bites his lip, but the smile escapes his control anyway.  "There's a place around the bend where we can turn around."

From the corner of his eye he sees Dean shake his head.  "We've come this far, might as well keep going."

"You're sure?"

There's a long pause, and Castiel's ready to take the decision out of Dean's hands, but then Dean answers.  "No I'm not, but I'm really fucking curious now about what you wanted to show me."  Right then they come around the bend in the road and it widens out, and Dean gasps.  "There's no way that's wide enough to turn around in."

"It takes a three point turn, but it's plenty of space."

"Are you kidding?"  Dean's voice has gone squeaky again.  "That's not even wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other."  Castiel opens his mouth to reassure him that it's plenty of space, but Dean makes a choked noise and says "Cas what would happen if someone was coming down the road while we're going up?"

At this point Castiel isn't sure he should tell Dean the truth, but if it happens it's probably best that Dean be prepared.  "Whoever is closest to a wide place in the road has to back up until the vehicles can pass each other."

"Oh god," Dean whimpers.

It is nerve racking; Castiel knows from experience.  But that's something he'll be keeping to himself.  "We're almost there, two more bends," he promises.

Dean's tiny _ok_ tempts him to turn around anyway, but they're already past the turn out, so he keeps going.  In less than ten minutes the road widens out into a plateau, and Castiel is pleased to see there aren't any other cars or trucks parked there.  The peak is a popular place for couples, but is usually only visited on weekends.  Since he and Dean could only find time for each other on a weeknight, the place is as empty as Castiel hoped for.  And now that he knows about Dean's fear, he's extra glad for the lack of traffic.

He parks as close to the center of the flat, gravelled area and turns off the engine.  The sudden silence is almost deafening after the last hour of driving, and he almost expects to hear Dean's quickened heartbeat.  But there's nothing beyond the whisper of their breath and the susurration of wind past the open back window.

Dean relaxes his grip on the seat and leans forward to look out the windshield.  "Are we are the very top?" He asks softly.

"Yes." Castiel keeps his voice as low as Dean's.  "Would you like to get out and look around?"

Dean tilts his head side to side as he thinks, then shrugs.  "Sure.  Just don't expect me to go near the edge."

"Of course not," Castiel says on a laugh.

The slam of the truck doors is loud, and so is the crunch of gravel under their feet as they circle around to meet each other in front of it.  There's only starlight and a half moon to illuminate them, but Dean looks much better, and when he reaches out Castiel takes his hand, grateful that Dean isn't mad at him for the surprise.

"Holy crap," Dean breathes as he looks out at the sparkling lights spreading far below them.  "You can see the whole valley from here."

"Both of them, actually."  Castiel pulls Dean away from the truck just far enough that it doesn't block the view behind them.  

"Holy _crap,_ " Dean says again.  He lifts a hand to point out a line of moving lights against a fast swath of darkness that Castiel knows is the Great Salt Lake.  "Is that I-80?"

"Yes it is."

This time it's Dean that moves them, walking in a small circle until he finds a good spot to look back and forth.  Castiel follows his gaze, and even though he's seen this view many times it still fills him with awe to see the the city lights from both valleys without having to do more than turn his head.

"My cousins and I like to come up here on the Fourth of July," he says.  "You can see all the firework shows from all the parks in every direction."

Dean's grin lights up the night. "That's awesome.  I'd love to see that.  Might be worth the drive up here."

Castiel drops his eyes to the gravel under his feet.  "I'm truly sorry, Dean.  I wish I'd known."

"Hey."  Dean tugs at Castiel's hand and wraps his other arm around Castiel's waist.  His body is warm and firm where they touch, making the chill wind around them feel even colder.  "Being up here with you is worth it too.  I'm glad you brought me.  It was a good idea, and it's not your fault I'm a chicken shit."

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid of heights, Dean," Castiel argues sternly.  "It's perfectly reasonable and-"

Dean cuts him off with a kiss, and Castiel melts against him.  His arms come up around Dean's shoulders without his conscious input, and his fingers are drawn to the silky hair at the back of his neck.  His lips part for Dean's tongue and they both make pleased noises at the slick heat waiting for them.  A hint of spice from dinner clings to Dean's lips, or maybe it's just the kiss that's making Castiel's mouth tingle in response.

When his fingers brush behind Dean's ear, Dean shivers, and Castiel pulls out of the kiss, but not so far that they're not sharing the thin mountain air between them.  It's early enough in the year that spring's chill still clings to the peak even though summer is in full swing in the valleys below, and he wishes he'd remembered to bring jackets.  "Are you too cold?"

“You’re keeping me warm,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel’s whole body heats up in response to the warmth in Dean’s tone and he kisses him again.  He pushes his body against Dean’s forcing him to shuffle backwards until Castiel has him pinned against the truck, and the kiss that started out sweet turns dirty.  Hands wander, slipping under shirts and below waistlines.  Dean makes the most delicious sound when Castiel squeezes the left cheek of his ass and rakes his nails over the firm flesh.  

They’re both hard in their jeans and panting like they ran a marathon by the time they break away from each other.  Dean drops his head back on his shoulders and gulps air in like he’s coming up from under water, but his grip on Castiel is tight, keeping him pressed close enough that Castiel can feel the twitch of his dick through two layers of denim.  

“Cas?” he asks.

“Yes, Dean?”

“How comfortable is the back of your truck?”

That surprises a laugh out of Castiel, which makes Dean lift his head back up to grin at him.  “Not very,” Castiel answers.

“Damn.”

Feeling brave, Castiel leans in to press a kiss against the hollow of Dean’s throat.  “I know you paid for that motel room, but how do you feel about spending the night at my place?  The bed there is very comfortable.”

Dean’s hands rub patterns up and down the muscles of Castiel’s back, and he’s quiet for a moment.  “Are you sure?  I mean, I want to do this dating thing right, Cas.  I’m not here to just hop into bed with you.”

Lifting his head, Castiel meets Dean’s eyes through the darkness.  He can’t see the color, and with the moon behind him, they look black under the shadow of his brow.  It’s sexy as fuck, and Castiel’s shiver has nothing to do with the extra vigorous gust of wind that ruffles their clothing.  “We don’t have to have sex,” Castiel says.  Then with a mischievous smirk he grinds his hips into Dean’s, relishing the taller man’s little gasp.  “If you don’t want to.”

“Oh I want to, Cas.  Believe me, I really really want to.”  Dean grabs Castiel’s hips and moves him so that they’re better aligned.  “I just don’t want you to think that’s all I want from you.”

“I don’t.  Come home with me tonight,” Castiel says, just short of pleading.

“Then let’s go.”

They kiss again, but it’s only a brush of lips, before disentangling themselves and getting back in the truck.  Castiel pulls it around in a circle, careful to keep as far from the edge of the small plateau as possible before guiding it towards the road that will take them back down the side of the mountain.  

They’re barely on the road, when Dean makes a strangled noise and starts breathing heavily.  When Castiel looks over he finds Dean staring out the passenger window, his eyes trained on the ground outside the truck.  Castiel knows there’s several feet of space between his tires and the drop off, but it probably looks like hardly anything to someone who is terrified of falling over the edge.  

He slows the truck to a stop, and reaches across the space between them.  The muscle in Dean’s arm tightens under Castiel’s fingers, but he doesn’t look away from the drop off.  

“Dean.”

“I can do it, Cas,” Dean grunts.  “Just keep going.”

“Not yet, Dean.” Castiel grabs his elbow and tugs until Dean turns to look at him.  “Undo your seatbelt and come sit right next to me.”

For a moment Dean only stares through him, but the words sink in and he nods shakily.  He fumbles with the belt, and Castiel almost reaches to help him with it, but he manages on is own.  Then he scoots across the seat, and Castiel helps guide his knee over the stick shift.  By the time Dean is settled, he’s pressed all along Castiel’s side, a shuddering wall of heat.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive like this?”  His voice is high pitched with fear again, but he relaxes slightly when Castiel pats his thigh.

“I’ve had four people crammed in this cab for the drive up and down.  We’ll be fine like this,” Castiel reassures him.  “Just watch out the windshield instead of your window, okay?”

Dean nods, and turns his head away from the drop off.  “Not gonna lie, Cas.  The drive down has already killed my boner.”

“I told you it’s okay if we don’t have sex,” Castiel says as he takes his foot off the break and starts the trip down the side of the mountain.  “We can just sleep.”

Dean’s chuckle sounds almost normal.  “I thought you don’t sleep.”

Castiel grins.  “I can watch you sleep.”

“Yeah, like that’s not creepy.”  Dean’s eyeroll is heavily implied in his tone.  

They continue to joke about their shitty sleeping habits until they reach the wider paved part of the road.  Dean finally relaxes, but he doesn’t move from the center of the seat.  He perks up with interest when Castiel reaches the fork that will take him back down to the Salt Lake valley, and instead turns towards Tooele.  Castiel tells him about how the canyon goes up and over, but it’s a shitty short cut since it’s only open in the summer and because of all the switchbacks in the road the speed limit is low.

He keeps his promise and tells Dean about the supposedly haunted baseball field halfway down the canyon that was built at the entrance of an old copper mine.  Dean perks up and asks him several questions, and Castiel ends up telling him stories of being at bonfire parties at the field and hearing footsteps behind him when he walks alone back to the truck for things.  When he runs out of ghost stories about the canyon he tells Dean about the haunted hospital in town that’s been converted into a retirement home.  He tells him about lady in white that sometimes leaves the parking lot of Dean’s motel to cross the freeway in front of it before disappearing halfway across the road, which almost makes Dean change his mind about staying at Castiel’s because he wants to see the ghost.

“You believe in ghosts?” Castiel asks him as they drive past the ranger station at the mouth of the canyon.  He speeds up now that the road is no longer constantly weaving back and forth through the foothills.  

“Oh hell yeah.” Dean nods solemnly.  “I’ve been all over this country, and the whole damn place is haunted, no matter how new the building or how well lit and un-creepy.  I could tell you stories, man.”

“I’d love to hear them.”

Dean yawns widely and slumps back against the seats.  “Careful, Cas.  I’ll talk your damn ear off.”

But instead he goes silent, and Castiel can tell that he’s very tired.  Their date started late in the evening already, and the trip over the mountain took several hours.  Between the late hour and the fright Castiel gave Dean, it’s no surprise that he’s worn out, if not going through a full adrenaline crash.  

So Castiel doesn’t urge him to talk.  And when Dean’s head tips over to rest on his shoulder, he’s careful not to move too quickly so as not to disturb him.

Dean rouses when Castiel pulls into the motel parking lot, and agrees when Castiel suggests he gets his stuff from his room and checks out.  He walks with Dean up to his room, helps him check to make sure he got everything, and then accompanies him to the office.  Moving around seems to wake Dean up a little, but there’s dark circles under his eyes and he’s still quiet.  The drive from the motel to Castiel’s little house in the heart of Lake Point is short, since it’s only a few blocks away, but Dean is yawning again by the time they get there.

“Cute place,” Dean says when Castiel leads him inside.  He glances around, smiling slightly at the framed photos all over the walls.  Most of them are landscapes, but Castiel has quite a few portraits of people and animals as well.  “Did you take all these?”

“All the ones I’m not in,” Castiel says as he leads Dean deeper into the house.  He flips on lights as he goes, illuminating the small living room that has a door leading to a hallway that opens onto two bedrooms and a bathroom, and an archway that leads to the kitchen.  He gestures around.  “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

After Dean’s sleepy gaze wanders around for a moment, it lands on Castiel.  His gentle smile does more to make the place feel like home than all the years Castiel has spent living in the little house.  “I really like it, Cas.”

It feels like Dean is talking about more than the house, and Castiel blushes at his words, which makes Dean laugh softly.  Castiel just rolls his eyes and leads Dean back to the bedroom.  

“I hate to say it, Cas,” Dean says when he drops his bag just inside the door.  “But I am beat.  I think you were right about the just sleeping thing.”

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean and hugs him tight.  “That’s alright.  Let’s get ready for bed.”

They take turns in the bathroom, and Dean comes out shirtless and wearing low slung sweatpants that make Castiel’s mouth go dry.  Castiel normally likes to sleep naked, but he just strips down to his boxers before crawling into bed with Dean.  It takes them a few minutes to work out a comfortable position, with Dean the big spoon against Castiel’s back.

“Mmm this bed is really comfortable,” Dean mumbles into Castiel’s shoulder.

“It’s memory foam with a pile of feather blankets on top.”

“Dude, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to get up.”

Castiel chuckles and pulls Dean’s arm tighter around him.  He can tell when Dean falls asleep by the way his breathing changes.  He doesn’t snore, but there’s a little bit of a wheeze, each breath long and slow.

He doesn’t expect to fall asleep, but listening to Dean lulls him.  And he’s surprised when the next time he opens his eyes again it’s light outside.

At some point he’d rolled onto his back in his sleep, and Dean is half draped over his chest.  Castiel twists his neck so he can look at Dean and is surprised again to find green eyes sparkling back at him with humor.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean murmurs.

“I fell asleep,” Castiel states, knowing he probably sounds stupid, but feeling the need to point out the obvious since his brain is still trying to boot up properly.

Dean grins.  “Yeah, and you snore.”

Castiel blinks dumbly at him.  

One tawny eyebrow lifts over a green eye.  “Are you still sleeping?”

The question makes Castiel laugh which shakes him out of his daze.  “I’m awake.”

“Good.  How ‘bout breakfast?”

“Breakfast sounds good.”

“Good, because I’m cookin’!” Dean doesn’t wait for a response, rolling away from Castiel and practically bouncing out of the bed.  

The play of muscles across his back is almost hypnotizing, especially when Castiel notices the freckles covering his shoulders and arms.

Dean stops in the doorway and looks back at him.  “Come on, Cas.  I gotta get some calories in you.” He bounces his eyebrows suggestively.  “You’re gonna need ‘em later.”

There’s no resisting a promise like that, and Castiel scrambles to leave the bed.  He follows Dean’s laughter to the kitchen, all the while thinking that if he could wake up like this every morning, he’d live a very happy life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry, I just completely lost interest in writing this fic and it's pure stubbornness and NaNoWriMo that's getting me through the lack of motivation to work on it now.
> 
> In an attempt to make this easier on myself I deleted the chapter titles because Titles Are Hard. I might also turn down the fic rating from E to M since I'm not sure how much smut I'll be able to fit in with my new outline. But let's be real, smut will probably happen so I'm keeping the current rating for now lol


	5. Chapter 5

In the murky cloud of Dean's earliest memories, one morning stands out bright, even if the edges are softened by time.  His mom and dad had bundled him up in layers thick enough to protect him from the stinging cold of late January, and buckled him into the car seat for a surprise trip.  It had ended at a store packed so tightly with furniture that he could barely navigate through it in his bulky clothes that made his already less than graceful three-going-on-four year old body feel even more clumsy.

He'd toddled along behind his dad, constantly distracted by the interesting chairs and couches, tables and stools.  Everywhere he looked was dark wood and floral cloth, and a million cubby holes just big enough for him to win a game of hide and seek.  He didn't understand why they were in a room full of too much furniture, because he was more interested in jumping on all the beds when they got to the sleeping section than finding out why they were there in the first place.

But then his dad pulled him forward and knelt down so they were eye level.  He'd ruffled Dean's hair and grinned at him with a lightness that disappeared from Dean's later memories of him.  

"Hey, buddy.  Remember how we talked about how your birthday present would be a little bit late?"

Dean had pouted, angry that his request for a new little brother couldn't be fulfilled in time for his birthday.  "Yeah I 'member."

John had chuckled at him, eyes fond.  "Well your mama and I want to make it up to you with another gift."

The offer of more gifts had improved his mood, even if it wasn't exactly what he wanted.  He'd looked up at his mom to see her eyes sparkling with happiness, and it gave him a zing of excitement that had him gripping the edges of John's leather coat and bouncing on his toes with excitement, exclaiming how he'd be really happy to get something now, even though he still really wanted a little brother, but if he got the present now he could share it.

His parents had laughed and laughed at his enthusiasm, and then led him to a section of little beds, all in his size.  He'd stared wide eyed when they told him to pick one because he needed a big boy bed now that he was getting a new room.

He'd chosen a race car bed.  Fire engine red with yellow racing stripes painted along the sides.  His mom had put bright blue sheets on the mattress and made him a blanket out of fabric covered in race cars.  It had been one of his favorite games to try and count them, but he always lost count pretty early on because the highest number he knew was a hundred, but he could never remember the numbers between fifteen and ninety-nine.  

 _Obviously_ the answer was a hundred, and his mom had always been proud of him for coming to that conclusion.  Even though in hindsight, he knew she was probably humoring him.

He had that bed for less than a year.  He lost it along with his toys, his clothes, his whole home in a fire.  The same fire that also took his mother from him.

Growing up without a mother also meant growing up without his own bed.  He's slept on couches, cots, blanket nests on the floor.  And even when he got to sleep in an actual bed, he shared it with his brother.  When John went back to work, he often took the boys on the road with him, and they slept together in the cramped space behind the seats in the cabin of John's semi, and as they'd grown that had become extremely uncomfortable due to lack of space.  

And when John had left them to live with their aunt Ellen and uncle Bobby during the school year, they'd still shared a bed even though they were given a room with two of them.  Sam always complained that his was lumpy, and had snuck into Dean's bed most nights.

Dean didn't mind sharing.  In fact, he'd missed it when Sam finally decided he was too old for it, although he'd loved being able to sprawl out in his own space.  The twin mattress wasn't quite long enough, and it had developed its own share of lumps, but it was his own.  Being able to stretch out fully was a treat compared to the bed in John's sleeper cabin during the summers, even if his feet did start to hang over the end when he went through a growth spurt during puberty.

As an adult he'd joined his father on the road, and cramped sleepers, or lumpy motel beds with scratchy sheets became the norm in his life.  And after Sam got a place of his own, a tiny one bedroom apartment near Stanford, Dean still settled for the cheap pull out couch they found at a goodwill.  He was never there long enough to justify a spare room, much less an expensive bed.  The pullout was plenty for the couple nights a month Dean slept there, and the small apartment meant that more of his income could go towards Sam's tuition and books and healthy food to fuel his giant genius brain.

But Dean always promised himself that when he wasn't supporting Sam through college anymore he'd get himself his own place, with a huge king size bed that he could stretch out on even if he was sharing it.  He'd get himself one of those fancy memory foam mattresses, with expensive feather pillows, and the softest jersey sheets, and fluffiest quilt he could find.  He was going to fuckin' splurge.

Hell, he'd even thought about finding a red bed frame, blue sheets, and a race car print duvet.  Just to give the first decent bed he's slept in since he was four his mother's touch.

Sam's been out of college and working for about a year now, and even though he's moved to a larger apartment that Dean still pays half the rent on, getting a fancy bed hasn't exactly been at the top of Dean's To Do list.  Turns out Dean's a damn workaholic, and he doesn't get off the road enough to justify the ten grand bed he dreams of.

A quarter of a century later and he still obsesses over comfortable beds, which is probably why he loves Castiel's so much.  It's not huge, just a queen, but it's squishy while still supporting his back, and piled high with feather pillows and quilts.  The sheets aren't jersey, or covered in race car print, but they're soft against his bare skin from hundreds of washes, and always smell faintly of lemon and sunshine and Castiel.

And the best part about Castiel's bed?

Waking up with his dick in a hot wet mouth.

It takes him a few minutes to realize that he's drifted from sexy dream to reality, registering the heat of sunlight against his cheeks, and the tickle of the quilt moving against his chest.  His eyes flutter open, and he blinks at the white washed brick walls of Castiel's bedroom before turning his head on the pillow and tucking his chin against his chest in an effort to see what's happening below his waist.  All he can see is a lump bobbing up and down under the parchment colored duvet, and it takes a few more heartbeats and an especially wicked flick of a tongue against the head of his dick before he's awake enough to coordinate his arms into movement.  He lifts the quilt, and grins crookedly when Castiel's eyes flick up towards him.  His mouth is wrapped around Dean's cock, so he can only smile with his eyes, but there's a world of mischief in that expression that makes Dean laugh.

"Mornin', Sunshine," he rasps.  Castiel responds with a hum that makes Dean's head drop back on the fluffy pillow.  "Fuck... nice wake up call."

There's another hum, and a slurp that sends goosebumps down Dean's thighs.  And Dean relaxes back into the mattress, dropping the blanket back over his chest.  Castiel's going to stay down there for a while, and Dean might as well stay warm and cozy while he's at it.  Castiel's house is old, and the bare brick walls don't do much for insulation against the cooling temperatures of early autumn.

He rewards every delightful lick and stroke with a groan or a gentle thrust of his hips.  Castiel can deep throat like a porn star - something Dean was _very_ pleased to learn early on in their bedroom adventures - but Dean's not fond of deliberately choking his partners, even if they can take it.  He prefers to let Castiel control the pace and depth, and be very verbal about how much he loves everything he does.

"Fuck yeah, sweetheart," he mutters.  "I love your damn mouth."

The encouragement causes Castiel to double his efforts, and Dean's whole body goes tense as his climax builds, fingers digging into the fluffy quilt, toes curling against soft sheets, thighs twitching with the need to thrust.  He's taking a deep breath and closing his eyes in anticipation of the main event when Castiel stops what he's doing.  The air punches out of Dean's lungs, and his hips involuntarily jerk.

Castiel pops up from between Dean's legs, and lifts the blanket enough to smile wickedly from the shadows underneath.  "Sorry, babe," he says, sounding the complete opposite of sorry, the smug bastard.  "I didn't mean to rile you up that much before the main event."

"You're a fuckin' liar," Dean protests breathlessly.  

"Maybe a little bit," Castiel quips as he crawls up Dean's body, bringing the blanket with him so that it creates a tent over them.  He leans down for a kiss, tongue tracing Dean's lips teasingly before dipping past them.  Castiel's mouth still holds just a hint of coffee, which means he's probably been awake for a while.

The kiss is deep and filthy enough to distract Dean from whatever the heck Castiel is doing.  Dean registers that Castiel's body is moving, but only distantly.  Then Castiel sits up and Dean's dick slides between his ass cheeks, the wet glide revealing exactly what Castiel was doing.

"Dude you are totally forgiven," Dean mutters as he bucks up against Castiel's ass, relishing the friction of slippery skin and hair against his dick.  "You ain't got a thing to be sorry for."

Castiel's eyes twinkle with mischief as he lifts a condom pack to his teeth to rip it open.  He adjusts himself over Dean's thighs so he can roll the condom onto him before knee-walking forward again.  With one hand between them to guide Dean, he lowers himself.  "Glad you think so."

They both groan as their bodies join.  Despite still being tight, Castiel opens easily, and sits right down on Dean's dick with very little resistance.  They switch, but Castiel's something of a power bottom and his body accepts Dean's as if it's meant to be there.

Sometimes Dean's pretty sure it is.

The blanket slides down Castiel's shoulders and pools around his hips, framing his straining cock and drawing Dean's eyes down to it.  Dean wants to touch him, but he waits for an invitation.  They've done this often enough that he's learned that Castiel gets a little over sensitive when he's got something in his ass.  And he's capable of coming without being touched, which is all kinds of hot.

When he lifts his eyes back to Castiel's face, the sight that greets him is like a punch in the chest.  Castiel's head is tilted back, exposing his throat, eyes closed, lips parted around breathy sighs.  He looks completely blissed out.  

Feeling a little high on endorphins himself, Dean rests his hands lightly on Castiel's thighs, rubbing small circles in the hair there with his thumbs.  "Goddamn, Cas," he breathes.  "You're gorgeous, y'know that?"

Castiel's chin tilts back down and he peeks at Dean through his eyelashes.  His tongue flicks against his bottom lip, a slow mischievous smile curving it upwards at the corners.   "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

"Y’know what?  Good idea."  Not one to turn down such a juvenile challenge, Dean reaches for his phone on the bedside table, jerking it until the charger comes loose.  He brings up the camera app and snaps a quick picture of Castiel.

"Gimme that." Castiel has the phone before Dean can fumble it away from him, and he squints critically at the screen.  "Not bad. Lighting could be better.  Although there's probably a setting..."  He begins fiddling with the phone, his thumbs tapping against the screen, his brow scrunched up as he searches for whatever the hell he’s looking for.

Having a conversation about photo composition while he's balls deep would have been weird before Dean met Castiel, but they've been dating for a few months now and he's learned a few things about his boyfriend.  First is that Castiel's artistic view of the world is fascinating, and Dean loves when he starts talking color theory and angles and aesthetics, like Dean has any idea what he's talking about.  Second is that Castiel is gonna rock his fuckin' world as soon as he's not distracted by Dean's shitty phone camera.  Which is why Dean doesn't mind the interruption in proceedings.  So he props his hands behind his head and smiles fondly at his boyfriend muttering at his phone.

When he seems satisfied with the settings, Castiel holds the phone up and takes a picture of Dean.  He grins at it, and flips it around so Dean can see the screen.  "See?  Much better."

"I dunno, Cas, I think I had a much better model," Dean drawls.

Castiel snorts, but his gaze is fond.  "Debatable."

Dean is about to protest, but the argument gets trapped in his throat when Castiel rolls his hips.  His fingers curl against his skull, and his eyes nearly slip shut.  

And Castiel snaps another picture.  

"Dude."  It's half protest, half plea.  

Ignoring Dean's whatever that was (definitely _not_ a whine), Castiel rotates his hip, grinding Dean deeper inside of him.  He keeps the camera pointed at Dean and it makes another fake shutter sound as he takes another picture.  His attention is laser focused on the screen as he takes a few more, and then his eyes light up and he glances at Dean.  Then he starts to rock in earnest.  

But he's still pointing the camera's lense at Dean.

"Are you-" Dean cuts off with a groan when Castiel squeezes around him, then fixes what's probably a very ineffectual glare on his boyfriend.  "Are you taking video?"

"I want to capture all the sounds you make too," Castiel says with a nod.

"Oh hell no."  Dean doesn't have a problem with nudie pics, or even video.  But if there's going to be home made porn on Dean's phone, then the camera is pointing in the wrong direction.  He sits up just enough to snatch the phone out of Castiel's hands, and he turns it around.  Castiel pouts at him twice, once in living color and again through the tiny screen.  "If you want to record me, use your own phone.  This video is gonna be for me."

Castiel perks up when he realizes that Dean isn't going to stop recording.  "Can I set up a camcorder for my sex tape?"

The first time they'd started exchanging dirty pictures Dean had been a little worried about the repercussions.  But he quickly decided that if he could trust Cas to drive him up the side of a mountain and back down, he can trust him with nudie pics.  And that goes for video too.

"Sure, Cas, knock yourself out."  He returns Castiel's grin through the phone's screen.  "Now gimme a show."

And Castiel obliges.  He plants his hands on Dean's stomach and starts to ride him like a pro.  It takes every ounce of Dean's willpower to not drop the phone, but the way Castiel is staring into the camera is too damn sexy to miss.  His gaze is always a little intense, focusing on Dean in a way that no one else has ever done before, but now it's like Castiel is staring into him, seeing his every thought, his every wish, all his dreams.  

And he approves of all the dirty things he finds there.

Castiel lifts one hand and shoves three fingers in his mouth, sucking and running his tongue between them.  He likes having things in his mouth, and often sucks on Dean's fingers when they fuck.  His eyelids droop with pleasure, and he suckles hard enough to make wet noises against his own skin.

"Fucking hell, Cas," Dean moans even as he clamps his shaking fingers tighter around the edges of the phone.  

Castiel only grins around his fingers and rolls his hips harder.  His cock bobs with his movements, occasionally brushing against his stomach and leaving wet trails behind on his skin.  It's such a pretty sight that Dean is tempted to zoom in on it, but he doesn't want to miss seeing Castiel's expression turn from determined to desperate.  Dean knows he's getting there by little whimpers and breathy grunts that make their way past the fingers pressing against his tongue.  

"You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart?" Dean's concentration on holding the phone is keeping him from following right along, but at this point he's more interested in watching Castiel come apart than his own pleasure.

Not that he isn't getting any.  Castiel's ass is fuckin' divine.

Instead of answering with words, Castiel leans back and braces his palms behind him on Dean's thighs.  His lips shimmer with his spit, and his tongue darts out to catch the excess.  And then he _really_ starts to fuck himself.  His stomach muscles clench and roll, and his thighs twitch and tighten.  With each downward thrust he keens, sometimes wordlessly, and sometimes calling Dean's name.  He's practically begging to come, and Dean knows he could drop the phone, roll them over and fuck Castiel rough and hard to give him what he wants, but after the way Cas amped him up with his mouth earlier, Dean wants to give him a little taste of his own medicine.

"C'mon, baby," Dean grunts through a particularly deep thrust.  His knees are pinned down, but he does his best to push up into Castiel's rocking motions.  "You can do it.  Come for me, Cas.  Wanna see you come."

Castiel pants around Dean's name, and then his inner muscles begin to clench.  Dean just barely manages not to drop the phone, and thank god because he's able to catch Castiel coming all over the both of them on video.  But that's about all he can stand to wait for.  He drops the phone on the mattress and surges up to wrap his arms around his dazed boyfriend.

Castiel goes limp in his hold, but he smiles dopily as Dean fucks up into him, chasing his own orgasm.  Dean buries his face against Castiel's throat and breathes in the musk of his sweat, letting the smell of sex and Cas and the lingering lemon scent of the bedding completely fill his senses.  It doesn't take more than three or four thrusts, before he's coming too, and he fucks Castiel through it, relishing his boyfriend's whimpers and the way he shudders in Dean's arms.

When his body finishes riding out the waves of pleasure, he falls back on the bed, pulling Castiel down with him.  Despite his muscles feeling like jelly, he tightens his arms around Castiel, and presses a kiss through the bird's nest of his hair.  

Castiel wiggles an arm free of his grip and Dean turns his head to see that he's grabbed the phone.  It's still filming, and Castiel taps the screen so it'll record from the front facing camera and they can see themselves on the screen.  Castiel looks like a fucked out mess, and his smile says he's very pleased with life, the universe, and everything.  Dean's eyes are glazed, his cheeks flushed, and he laughs when he sees his image on the screen.  If Castiel looks fucked out, Dean looks nearly as debauched.  

Castiel winks at the screen, and then he taps the stop button and lets his hand and the phone drop back down to the bed.  He turns his face and nuzzles against Dean's neck.  "I think I'm ready for a nap now."

Dean rolls them to the side and does his best to remove the condom without jostling Castiel too much.  He tosses it over the side of the bed, promising himself he'll clean up the mess later.  Then he pulls the blanket back over their shoulders and lets himself fall back into a doze.

***

The nap doesn't last as long as Castiel would like, but any sleep he gets is always appreciated.  With the four hours he got earlier when he'd gone to bed with Dean, and the hour nap after they had sex, he's actually feeling pretty good.  There's less weight behind his eyes and in his muscles, so instead of staying curled up against his still sleeping boyfriend Castiel decides that he might as well get up and start his day.  

Since he took Dean’s advice and started sleeping in the day instead of forcing himself to sleep at night like a normal person he’s been doing much better.  He’s often more rested, even when he doesn’t get a full eight hours, because he tosses and turns less.  Having Dean stay with him also helps because the sex endorphins help him relax, and Dean doesn’t mind his weird sleep schedule so he doesn’t have to feel guilty about being up all night.  

Since Dean has his own issues with insomnia, Castiel is careful not to wake Dean when he extracts himself, although it's a slow process.  Dean turns into a tentacle monster in his sleep, and he mumbles a sleepy protest, but Castiel manages to free himself.  He smiles when Dean rolls onto his stomach and snuffles against Castiel's pillows before settling back down with a wheezy sigh.  It's tempting to run his fingers through Dean's sleep mussed hair, but he resists, unwilling to wake him with a touch after taking nearly ten minutes to escape the bed.  But he does grab his own phone and take a quick picture before tucking the blanket more securely around Dean's shoulders and leaving the bedroom.

He doesn't have any appointments for the day, but he does have some engagement photos he needs to sort through so he can send off a selection of the best ones for the bride-to-be to review.  He wanders into the living room where he’s got one corner set aside as a mini office.  On his desk his laptop is still open to the folder, and he's only about halfway through them.  He might have been finished by now, but he'd lost interest at looking at the happy straight couple posing in front of the Mormon temple and had decided to slip back into bed to molest his boyfriend.

He smiles at that.   _Boyfriend._  They'd had the official relationship talk after only a few dates, and even a few months later it still gives him a happy thrill to think of Dean in that term.  

The happy Mormon couple on his laptop screen would probably be less thrilled, which makes an evil sliver of him even happier.  He tries to suppress his enjoyment of "tainting" straight couples' photos with his gay touch, but every once in a while he can't tamp it down.

Deciding that he's still not in the mood to sort through the rest of the pictures, he heads to the kitchen instead.  He doesn't know how much longer Dean will sleep for, but he'll probably get back on the road later in the day, so Castiel wants to make him a decent meal before he leaves.

The coffee pot is nearly empty so he starts a new one and then combs through the contents of his fridge.  Pasta is always a good bet with Dean, and he can sneak a few veggies in if he adds enough sauce and cheese.  He gathers everything he needs, and after he’s got it all laid out on the counters he turns on the little stereo on top of the microwave, then he gets to work.

He’s got the pasta baking and is working on cleaning up after himself when he catches movement from the corner of his eye.  He grins when Dean shuffles into the kitchen in rumpled pajamas and socked feet.  The plain red t-shirt he’s wearing belongs to Castiel, and the width of Dean’s shoulders pulls it tighter than it should be, but it’s a good look on him.  Especially when paired with Dean’s loose lounge pants because the shirt rides high and the pants ride low, and Castiel gets to admire the slightly pudgy belly peeking out of the gap between them.

When Dean catches him staring he tugs at the t-shirt, which doesn’t help at all, but Castiel looks away so he won’t be self conscious.  He meets smiling green eyes with a welcoming smile of his own.  “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Dean rubs both hands through his hair, spiking it up, and glances at the clock on the microwave.  “Dude, it’s like noon.”

“That’s why I’m making lunch instead of breakfast.”  Castiel puts the knife he just cleaned in the rack next to the sink and dries his hands on a towel before approaching Dean.  He slips into Dean’s welcoming arms, and tilts his chin up for a kiss.  Dean’s breath smells minty from a recent brushing, and Castiel nips at his bottom lip to chase the flavor.  “But I made coffee.”

Dean nuzzles Castiel’s cheek and hums appreciatively.  “Coffee sounds good.”

Their touch lingers even as they separate, their fingers hooked together until they’re literally too far apart to hold on.  Dean heads for the coffee pot, and Castiel goes back to the sink to finish washing up.

“How did you sleep?” Castiel asks as he wets a rag and starts wiping down the counters.

“Good enough that I could probably survive the day on decaf.”  Dean lifts his full mug to his lips and takes a deep sip, his eyes dropping to half mast in pleasure.  He smacks his lips together when he lowers his coffee, and gives Castiel a cheeky grin.  “Not that I’m gonna, though.”

Castiel laughs.  “Of course not.”

“How ‘bout you?” Dean asks.  He leans a hip against the counter near Castiel but where he won’t get in the way.  “Did you get some sleep?”

“About five hours or so.”  Castiel hangs up the rag and joins Dean.  Their legs brush together, and the arm that isn’t involved in holding Dean’s coffee comes around Castiel’s hip.  

One of the things Castiel loves about Dean is how physically affectionate he is.  He likes to touch Castiel, nearly always initiating contact, lacing their fingers together when they’re walking side by side or resting a hand on Castiel’s knee when they’re in the car together.  He’ll hook an ankle around Castiel’s when they sit across tables from each other, and he’s generous with his hugs and loves to cuddle.  He used to be shy about it, eyeing Castiel for any sign of his touch being rejected, but once he figured out that Castiel enjoys the contact the hesitation disappeared.

Dean grunts, and his nose wrinkles.  “That’s not much.”

“I’ll take it,” Castiel says with a shrug.  “I’m happy with anything I can get without taking a sleeping pill.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Dean pulls Castiel closer and kisses his forehead.  “Although I don’t know how you don’t end up sleeping forever in that bed.  It’s really fuckin’ comfortable.”

Castiel chuckles at that because it’s a sentiment Dean has expressed every single time he’s spent the night.  Something that started as just a couple times a month but has gradually increased to a couple times a week as Dean has started adjusting his driving routes so they don’t take him as far away.  He used to worry that Dean would lose money driving shorter routes, but then Dean had just shrugged his concerns away and explained how fast a savings account grows for workaholics whose only bills are fast food, gas, insurance, and half the rent on a cheap apartment.  Not even paying Sam’s school expenses kept his nest egg from growing, so he can afford to take more regional jobs now that he’s not supporting Sam through school anymore.

“You only love me for my bed,” he teases.

“Well not _only_ for your bed,” Dean says softly.  And then his cheeks flush with color and his gaze drops to Castiel’s chest, as if the rainbow splashes printed there are completely fascinating.  “I mean, uh… you know.”

A slow smile stretches Castiel’s lips, and he watches Dean’s shy sputtering.  “Dean.  Are you saying that you love me?”

Dean sets down his coffee mug before lifting his eyes back up to meet Castiel’s, like he needs both hands free for the encroaching conversation.  His jaw shifts into a stubborn angle, and but there’s uncertainty in the way his eyelashes flutter.  “I know we haven’t been together long, so I’m sorry if it seems kind of sudden, or if I’m moving too fast, but…” his shoulders tighten and his chin loses some of its tilt, but his voice is steady and full of a surety that goes right to Castiel’s heart.  “And look, I know there’s the whole long distance thing, but I really think we can work it out.  I mean, we already are, right?  You seem cool with the phone sex when I’m not here, and-”

Cutting Dean’s rambling off with a hand cupping his cheek, Castiel laughs.  “Dean.  Take a breath.”

He does, sucking in air until their chests press together, then letting it out through his nose.  He nods a little, as if he’s reassuring himself of something before finally getting to the point.  “Yeah, Cas.  I’m saying that.  I love you.”

Castiel doesn’t know what his own face is doing, exactly, but it certainly feels like the textbook definition of beaming.  Dean’s words light up everything inside of him, and it’s got to be leaking out of him from somewhere.  “I love you too, Dean.”

The tension slips out of Dean’s shoulders and he returns Castiel’s grin with a growing one of his own.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Castiel sighs.  He tilts his head forward and is pleased when Dean does the same until their foreheads gently bump together.  “And you’re more than welcome to my amazing bed any time you want.” He bites his bottom lip, unsure if he should extend the offer that’s been on his mind for several weeks now.  But if Dean can make his confession, then Castiel will muster the courage to do the same.  “And if you’re interested, we could make the sleeping arrangement more permanent.”

Dean’s muscles tense under Castiel’s fingers, and he straightens.  He gives Castiel a searching look.  “Are you asking me to move in, Cas?”

And now it’s Castiel’s turn to ramble.  “I know you’ve got an arrangement with Sam, but you said that he’s been trying to refuse your rent money lately, and I’ve got a garage where you can keep your car when you’re working.  I can even take care of it better than Sam can, and I’ve got the tools if you want to tinker when you’re home.”  It feels good to refer to his house as Dean’s home, and he has no doubt that he’s making the right decision by asking him to move in.  “And you’re here more than anywhere but your truck anymore, so why not?”

Dean’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter, and then he pulls Castiel into a hug that nearly squeezes the breath out of him.  But Dean lets him go before he suffocates, leaning back to give Castiel his own version of a sunbeam smile.  “Y’know what?  You’re right.  Why not?  Lets do it.”

Castiel’s heart doesn’t just skip a beat, it does a happy jig inside his chest.  “Really?”

One shoulder lifts in a negligent shrug.  “Eh, Sam might give me the ‘concerned moose look’, but I’m a big boy and I think it’s time I got my own place.  And maybe it’s a little sappy to say so, but I’d kinda like it if my place is with you.”

“It’s more than a ‘little sappy’.”  Castiel uses air quotes because it never fails to make Dean snort at him in amusement, and this time is no exception.  “But I promise I won’t tell.”

“You better not,” Dean mock growls.  “Or I won’t let you drive my baby when I’m not home.”

That makes Castiel’s eyebrows go up.  Dean _loves_ his car.  Castiel has only seen pictures of it, but he doesn’t need to know how gorgeous the Impala is since he has the unfettered adoration of Dean’s stories about her to show him how special she is.  “You’d let me drive your car?”

“Sure.  I said I love you, didn’t I?  And someone that appreciates her should be driving her.” He wrinkles his nose.  “Sam’s a little bitch about his carbon footprint and doesn’t give her enough attention.”

Castiel tsks, shaking his head at the shamefullness of caring about a carbon footprint more than showing a classic beauty like Dean’s Impala all the love she deserves.  “You know I’ll treat her like the lady she is.”

It’s the right answer, and Castiel basks in Dean’s delighted laughter.  

“Damn, Cas,” Dean says when he’s able to take a normal breath again. “I really do love you.”

Castiel winks at him.  “I know.”

“Come here, you smartass.”  

Dean pulls him in for a kiss, and they make out in the kitchen like the love struck fools they are until the oven timer interrupts them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooo-boy, I am SO SORRY it took me so long to post something. It's unusual for me to take more than a couple weeks in between chapters, much less two and a half months. At least I didn't leave the last chapter on a cliffhanger tho... I've got 2 WIPs that will probably never get finished and both are on cliffhangers. *GUILT*
> 
> Anyway, if you've seen me talking about it on [my Tumblr](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com/tagged/writer's_angst/) I've been having some major writer's block. I've lost interest in finishing this story for now, but I feel like I'm at a good place to give it a sense of completion. So I'm ending the fic here, and if I ever decide to address that amnesia tag (that I've removed since it doesn't apply anymore), I'll do the rest in a sequel. I'm sorry if it seems a bit abrupt, but I'd rather have this kind of ending than leave it hanging forever and adding to the font size of my *GUILT*
> 
> Maybe, _hopefully_ , ending this fic that I've been struggling with will allow me to fully turn my attention to some of the other ideas I've had lately. Like my Cyberpunk AU or my Fake Marriage Mafia AU or my Escort!Dean AU. I have SO MANY IDEAS. I hope y'all don't mind if I go poke at them and see what new adventures I can come up with :)
> 
> If you're interested in seeing what I had planned for the rest of the story and the amnesia tag, I wrote up [a synopsis](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com/post/169653967043/in-it-for-the-long-haul-part-2) on my tumblr.


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